<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>it's nice to have a friend by lightfighter</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354158">it's nice to have a friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightfighter/pseuds/lightfighter'>lightfighter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>inhaf verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(it's a romcom), Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, F/F, and there's also anonymous twitter dm-ing, eve runs a crime/mystery bookstore, so this will go well, villanelle runs an online retailer that is destroying the market</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:08:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightfighter/pseuds/lightfighter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not easy running an independent bookstore these days, with online retailers squeezing the market for every last penny. When big online retailer Villanelle Books announces its plans to open a physical store down the street from her bookshop, Eve isn't amused — and even less so when she meets its obnoxious vice president, Oksana. Good thing she can vent to her hilarious and intriguing Twitter friend about the whole thing, who is totally anonymous, definitely not involved in any of Eve's real-world problems, and maybe even someone Eve can see herself meeting offline one day...</p><p>[It's a You've Got Mail AU, folks.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>inhaf verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>526</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from the iconic T Swift song.</p><p>Despite my best attempt at not writing multi-chaptered fics right now, here we are. This will be a loose adaptation of the classic 1998 film "You've Got Mail," the thought of which struck me like a lightning bolt and then wouldn't leave, though I don't pledge complete adherence. There will be no AOL, for instance, and that's probably for the best.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can’t be seriously telling me you prefer <em> Gone Girl </em> to <em> In Cold Blood</em>.” </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes. “Believe it or not, I can.”</p><p>The man on the other side of the counter scoffs, mustache bristling. “<em>In Cold Blood </em> is one of the finest pieces of true crime to be ever penned — it practically started the genre — and the other is...is...blood-soaked psychotic revenge-porn <em> chick lit!</em>”</p><p>“That <em> chick lit </em> has probably some of the best insights into male entitlement and toxic heterosexual relationships ever, while completely dismantling the myth of the cool girl. Also Rosamund Pike absolutely becomes Amy Dunne in the movie adaptation, not to mention tortures the hell out of Ben Affleck’s Nick Dunne, which makes it an automatic win.” Eve eyes him coolly. “As for psychotic revenge-porn, some would say Amy has a point.”</p><p>Niko gapes at her for a second before chuckling ruefully. “I’ll tell you this, Eve, you always do stick to your guns. Even if they’re unsettling as hell.”</p><p>Eve smiles at him sweetly. “Yup. And this is why we didn’t work out.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess so.”</p><p>“<em>In Cold Blood </em> is a classic, I’ll grant you that, but it lacks the...ah, <em> punch</em>, <em> Gone Girl </em>has.” </p><p>It’s Niko’s turn to roll his eyes. “You mean women killers.”</p><p>“Aw, you do know me.”</p><p>“Some parts of you, anyway.”</p><p>They look at each other uncomfortably for a moment before Niko clears his throat, handing her back the copy of <em> Gone Girl </em> he’s been holding. “Well, I’d better be going. Maybe I’ll give this a try at some point in the future.” </p><p>He won’t, Eve knows. This no longer bothers her as it once would’ve. “Yeah, sure. See you, Niko.”</p><p>He waves and sees himself out, weaving his way through the little pockets of customers scattered through the bookstore, people leaning against shelves or squatting in corners or sprawled out on the few squashy armchairs grouped in the center of the shop.</p><p>Eve watches him go, leaning against the counter. There are no more pangs of regret or resentment; just relief. It’s nice, actually.</p><p>“Ugh, thank god.”</p><p>She looks sideways. Elena gives her an unrepentant look as she jabs at the register, ringing up a customer. “Seriously, Eve. He’s nice and all, I guess. If you don’t mind the boring bit. Or the mustache.”</p><p>Eve has to laugh. “I guess I didn’t mind either. And he’s not a bad person, we’re just...different.” </p><p>“Eve, that’s like saying the Soviet Union and America were just <em> different</em>.” Elena shakes her head as she passes the very bemused customer his change. “The man knew you own a mystery and crime focused bookstore from the beginning and <em> still </em>managed to find your obsession with murder unsettling. The level of obtuseness that requires is off the charts.”</p><p>“Yeah, and we still got together, so maybe I can be obtuse too. Anyway, it’s over now, so let’s just move on, shall we?”</p><p>Elena snaps off an only somewhat mocking salute and Eve rolls her eyes. “Hugo’s shift is due to start soon; <em> please </em>don’t devolve into a cage match immediately. As much as my customer base may enjoy bloodshed I’d like to keep it confined to the books.”</p><p>Elena groans. “I <em> hate </em>working the register with Oxbridge. The man has me ready to fight in three minutes or less. Why can’t Kenny trade with him?”</p><p>“He’s my only data guy, and since you two geniuses absolutely refuse to learn any more Excel than you have to or how the inventory system works on the backend, I need him elsewhere.” Elena looks petulant, and Eve points sternly as she scoops up both novels for reshelving. “<em>No </em> blood.”</p><p>She doesn’t bother to wait around for Elena’s no doubt snarky reply, smiling to herself as she heads for the shelves. Hugo isn’t <em> that </em>bad; sure, he can be insufferable, elitist as hell, and occasionally sleazy, but there’s also a certain charm and humor to him that has so far kept Eve from kicking him to the curb. God knows he manages to sell enough of the more tawdry selection to the bored housewives who find their way in.</p><p>Elena can’t stand him, naturally, but she also excels at cutting him down to size, and thus far the two of them have kept Eve thoroughly entertained — especially when Kenny, her sweet, if somewhat shy and retiring technical employee (also known as the “data guy”), takes it on himself to play mediator, or, god forbid, tries to come to Elena’s rescue (this is about the point that Eve usually has to step in). </p><p>Still, all three of them are good at what they do, namely, selling books and keeping the bookstore from falling apart, and anyway she can’t be bothered to actually try and hire anyone else, so Eve continues to keep them gainfully employed (and if she has a soft spot for each of them, well, no need to drag <em> emotions </em>into it). </p><p>Murder By the Book is a good bookstore — she thinks she’s earned the right to say that. She’s proud to be an independent bookseller, to occupy a space in her community and on her high street, all that inspirational stuff. </p><p>But she also just really loves crime. Well, okay, not <em> crime </em>per se, but murder. </p><p>Maybe she’s not expressing this very well. Eve has always been deeply intrigued by the impulses and motives and convictions that drive one to murder, the psychology of it. And though her bookstore carries a wide selection of mysteries and thrillers and whodunnits and non-fiction, Eve’s own personal interest has always been pretty squarely on not just murder, really — but murder carried out by women. </p><p>There’s something so intriguing about the concept, so transgressive. Society and the powers-that-be have spent centuries defining the boxes that women exist in, the spaces they may occupy — and generally, those roles, soft and quiet and docile, don’t make any allowance for violence. </p><p>It just makes it all the more tantalizing when it happens anyway.</p><p>(This is where Bill would say something witty and annoying about Eve’s apparent murder kink, but thankfully, he has not yet found a way to break into her subconscious monologue.)</p><p>In another life she’d work in government intelligence, analyzing murders and trying to understand what makes the perpetrators tick. But in this one, she’s indulged her interest in the subject in another way, through the books she’s spent so much of her life reading, the Agatha Christies and Patricia Highsmiths and Stieg Larssons — not to mention the straight up court reports on real-life serial killers — and channeled them into this, her labor of love.</p><p>The bookstore is a mainstay on the author tour circuit, a gathering spot for lovers of true crime, mysteries, slashers. It’s a good place, and Eve is proud of what it’s become. </p><p>Even <em> if </em>it barely hovers around solvency every month. The internet and big box retailers have been absolutely murderous (heh) on her and many other indie booksellers’ businesses, and though she knows it’s just a sign of the times — that she’s been able to hold on for this long, in the age of online shopping, is impressive enough — she can’t say she’s not bitter. Because she loves this place, loves that it’s a place for the weird kids to gather after school, like she had been, those who don’t quite fit in. Believes in the mission of it all, the importance. </p><p>So she’ll keep making her stand, even if it may be quixotic and ultimately doomed. And even if one of those aforementioned online retailers, in some hideous twist of fate or market research, is opening a brick-and-mortar store around the corner, as if they decided that their dominance online wasn’t enough and hasn’t eaten away enough of Eve’s questionable profits. </p><p>She’ll keep going. That’s what she’s always done.</p><p>Once she returns both novels to their rightful places — and she was partially messing with Niko, of course she also loves <em> In Cold Blood</em>, it’s a goddamn classic — she pulls out her phone. </p><p>She’s generally too old to be wasting time on social media — she made a Facebook page for the store ages ago at Elena’s insistence, but held firm against Instagram, couldn’t see the point of endless photos. </p><p>And then her brain trust suggested Twitter, and though she at first was turned off by what appeared to be a nonstop stream of inanity from people with too much time and too few occupations, something about it kept pulling her back to the website. Some of that inanity could be amusing, it turned out. Or thought-provoking, or even touching. Especially when she found her people, the other devotees of crime novels, true crime, and yes, even women killers — and she’s been stuck since.</p><p>She even downloaded the Twitter app for her phone, for god’s sake. At first, she could pretend it was just to give timely updates on bookstore events on the store’s Twitter page, but she very quickly figured out it was better if she made her own personal account, after a somewhat embarrassing event in which Kenny — who also, despite his plaintive and repeated requests otherwise, helps run the social media — confusedly asked her if she’d liked every tweet in a probably overly-passionate thread about real-life women serial killers. (Commenting “SO COOL!!!” probably didn’t help matters.)</p><p>The personal account is anonymous, of course — she’s not embarrassed about her interests, exactly, but does think it’s perhaps better not to call more attention to them in relation to herself than necessary — but freed from the shackles of necessary discretion or, probably, using of better judgement, she quickly found her way into the true crime...fandom, or whatever it’s called. </p><p>And it was there, several months ago, on a thread about the merits of the latest season of the Serial podcast, that she first spoke to Villanelle. </p><p>Well, “spoke” is generous. More like she typed out her opinion, Villanelle replied with a host of laughing emojis and a “you can’t be serious,” Eve replied to <em> that </em>with an irritated question mark, and they were off. </p><p>Villanelle had opinions on the topic, and she shared them at <em> length</em>, often explicitly, and sometimes mercilessly, especially when some hapless newcomer chimed in with a questionable take at the end of the thread and received swift judgement. </p><p>And yet, Eve...liked her. A lot. She knew then she should feel bad, especially for that swift put down, but the simple truth is, she didn’t. She found Villanelle hilarious, and intelligent, even if she didn’t agree with her every opinion. </p><p>Villanelle seemed to feel the same way, because a few weeks after they first crossed swords she direct-messaged her, and after Eve got over her initial alarm and also remembered how instant-messaging works, they started to talk. </p><p>And now? They’re...friends, Eve guesses. They talk a lot, sometimes about true crime or books but often about topics completely unrelated, and Eve is never bored. It’s fun. Villanelle is fun. </p><p>But it’s still an internet friendship. Eve was already an adult by the time the internet got going, and even if the rules of the day have changed somewhat, become more easygoing, she still adheres to some of the basic laws of internet stranger-danger, and Villanelle seems to feel the same. And thus they have never exchanged real names, ages, barely any real-life pertinent information at all. Eve knows Villanelle is a corporate businessperson, travels a lot for work, and in return Villanelle knows that Eve owns and runs her own business in London...and that’s about it. </p><p>Sometimes, Eve is curious. She knows Villanelle comes to London for work on occasion, and she just...wonders. But she doesn’t want to make it weird. They are internet friends, and that’s all. It’s enough.</p><p>She opens the Twitter app, and taps to her direct messages.</p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Thoughts on Gone Girl?</p><p> </p><p>A response quickly comes through. Whatever Villanelle does, she never seems far from her phone.</p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: iconic. amy dunne is my personal hero</p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b> : like, she could slash my throat after sex any day <b>💯</b></p><p>Eve can’t help the laugh that bursts out. </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Glad we’re aligned.</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: i’d expect nothing less</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>“Will you <em> please </em>stop texting?”</p><p>No reply. Irina, clomping down the sidewalk in her Docs, glares at her otherwise-occupied companion. </p><p>“Villanelle! Who are you even talking to?! You don’t have any friends.”</p><p>Villanelle, without looking away from her phone, reaches out and flicks Irina directly in the forehead, causing Irina to dramatically clap both hands to the afflicted spot and stop dead in her tracks. “I’ll kill you!”</p><p>This statement causes a few sideways glances from passerby, but Villanelle just rolls her eyes as she pushes her phone back into her back pocket. “I’d like to see you try, brat. And who I’m texting is none of your business.”</p><p>Irina grumbles under her breath before catching up — Villanelle, naturally, never stopped walking. “Why do we even have to walk? We toured the store site, aren’t we going back to the office now?”</p><p>“<em>I </em> toured the store, you were just there. Why I have to babysit you, I have no idea.”</p><p>Irina says nothing, but Villanelle glances over and sees the last of a look of hurt on her face, and heaves an irritated sigh. “Oh come on, don’t get in a huff now. I am not serious. Anyway, your dear father wants to get the lay of the land around the store. You know he likes these things confirmed for himself.”</p><p>“If he wants it confirmed for himself, why are <em> we </em>doing it?”</p><p>“Ha! That is the question. I guess my uncle thinks of you and me as his trusted lieutenants.”</p><p>Irina considers this. “I guess he wants me here to make sure you actually do what he says.”</p><p>Villanelle laughs, a loud noise that makes Irina wince. “As if you have any say over that. You are, what, twelve?”</p><p>Naturally, this makes Irina puff up once more in outrage. Honestly, it’s too easy. “I’m fifteen! And a genius! I’m starting university this year! That <em> you </em>are his second-in-command is absolutely ridiculous, it should be me.”</p><p>“Wow! Fifteen whole years!” One would have to be careful not to slip in the mocking derision dripping off Villanelle’s words. “And, since you asked, I think he thinks your social skills leave a little something to be desired.”</p><p>Irina scowls. “When will he get over that?! I didn’t even hit Mikhail, he jumped away at the last second.”</p><p>“Yeah, see, the disappointment in your voice is what is not inspiring much confidence.” </p><p>“At least I never seduced my French teacher or physically fought her husband.”</p><p>“Yes, and it shows.” Villanelle smirks. “And anyway, may I remind you that the company and I literally have the same name? It is meant to be.”</p><p>“Oh my god, only we use your stupid nickname, and it comes from the company anyway. Villanelle Books is older than you, <em> Oksana</em>.”</p><p>Villanelle reaches out and flicks her forehead again. </p><p>Just as Irina is about to rear back and attempt to tackle her, Villanelle stops short. Irina stops as well, confused, and follows her gaze to the shop they’re walking past. Across the window front, in bold, serif letters, reads “MURDER BY THE BOOK.” </p><p>Irina watches as Villanelle grins, real delight shining on her face. “A murder mystery bookstore!”</p><p>Irina is unimpressed. “Yeah, well, hope our new store doesn’t sink it.”</p><p>Villanelle shoots her a flat look before disappearing inside. Irina allows herself a groan before following suit.</p><p>Inside, the bookstore is about everything you could hope for from a neighborhood bookstore, even Irina can admit this. Not too big to get lost in, nor too small to feel claustrophobic, neither cutesy nor antiseptic, with leather armchairs grouped in the center, the checkout counter off to the left, and shelves and shelves of books, bearing placards with labels like “Criminal Psychology,” “Thrillers,” and “Classic Mystery.” The whole place feels lived-in, and though Villanelle can, with her discerning eye, spot some need for minor touch-ups here and there, and perhaps a new paint job, overall the place manages to make you want to come in and stay for a while, maybe pull up a chair.</p><p>She is immediately enchanted. It’s a nice, if a little unusual feeling. Not much <em> enchants </em> her; generally, she is trying to find things that leave much of any kind of impression either way. Honestly, the irony is that though she doesn’t hate books — likes them far more than many other things, in fact — she certainly doesn’t live and breathe them the way she feels whoever runs this place does. She wonders if that is what makes the difference, between her and the owner, between this shop and the giant, mostly online Villanelle Books. That individual sentiment and conviction that one can practically <em> feel </em>in the air.</p><p>It’s sad, really. Because Irina is right. She’s already reviewed the company’s exacting market research for this part of London, knows the average net profit of these sorts of bookshops. And this one can’t be doing particularly well. </p><p>She’s never felt bad about that aspect before. </p><p>Villanelle knows perfectly well what her family’s business, and more broadly online retail, is doing and has already done to small local businesses like this one. And while she doesn’t exult in their demise, she doesn’t particularly regret it, either. This is what the free market is all about. Innovation, competition, offering the widest selection at the lowest prices. The smartest and most resourceful will flourish. The ones who fail to see the signs, to adapt and innovate...will not.</p><p>It’s not personal. Just business. </p><p>But this is a crime bookstore. Now that is something that she <em> is </em>personally interested in. While she generally abhors wasting time online, this is the one topic she makes an exception for...especially nowadays. And to know that she is involved, even directly, in a business and market that is going to certainly further harm this shop...yeah. She does feel a bit bad. </p><p>Not personal. Just business. </p><p>She wanders around the shop, hands in her pockets. There are maybe ten or eleven patrons milling around, and some look like they may actually buy something. Not bad for a standard Thursday afternoon.</p><p>On a whim, she reaches into a shelf, pulls out a book at random — and can’t stop the smile that stretches over her face. <em> Gone Girl </em>looks back at her. What are the chances? She almost takes out her phone to snap a photo and send it to her...friend (is that what they are?) on Twitter, but stops herself at the last moment. She doesn’t want to send over anything too identifying — not because she distrusts @true_crime77 (even if that username is criminal in and of itself), but just generally out of respect for her fairly public role in a public company — and, more than anything, because she doesn’t want to make things weird. </p><p>That happens to her, sometimes. People take things she does, even the well-intentioned things, differently than how she intends them, and sometimes they react badly, and she doesn’t understand why. It is...annoying. And sometimes other things that she cannot give a name to. She doesn’t want that to happen with her friend. Even if it is an online one.</p><p>Better not to rock the boat. </p><p>Just as she is making to place the book back, a voice stops her. “That one is certainly making the rounds today.”</p><p>She turns, book still in hand, to see...a woman standing there, carrying a small pile of books and looking amused. </p><p>Villanelle swallows. This woman is <em> gorgeous</em>. Does she work here? Oh god. Her usual charm and effortless cool have pulled a disappearing act. She smiles, hoping her sudden awkwardness isn’t too apparent. “Oh? It’s very good, to be fair.”</p><p>The woman’s smile broadens. “I’m glad you think so. I was hearing opposing opinions about it just a bit ago.”</p><p>“Was it from a man?”</p><p>The woman nods. </p><p>Villanelle gives her a wry look. “Then there you go. This book <em> terrifies </em>them."</p><p>“Maybe that’s it.” The woman looks at her, more of an inspection this time, and Villanelle tries not to fidget or obviously straighten her blazer. Get a grip, for the love of god. “I’m Eve. I run the place.”</p><p>Villanelle smiles. Eve. It’s a nice name, and suits its bearer. “Nice to meet you, Eve. I’m—”</p><p>“Villanelle!”</p><p>They both turn to see another woman round the corner at speed; her name tag identifies her as Elena. Villanelle frowns, and opens her mouth to ask how this random person knows her name, but before she can Elena is already talking again. “Villanelle Books! Those bastards just announced the opening date of that damned shop of theirs around the corner.”</p><p>Villanelle presses her lips together. Right. Maybe not a good time. She chances a glance at Eve to see that her brows have furrowed. “When?”</p><p>Elena sighs. “Next month.” She shakes her head. “It’s just ridiculous. They already dominate the online space, so now they have to circle back and open a physical store like some kind of bloody victory cigar. Just rubbing our faces in it.”</p><p>Hmm. Villanelle thinks now might be a good time to execute a strategic retreat, and also maybe (definitely) keep any aspect of her identity under wraps. Sorry, gorgeous Eve. </p><p>Gorgeous Eve, meanwhile, is frowning deeply. “Konstantin Vasiliev. God, he’s such a dick.”</p><p>Elena snorts. “Everyone in that family, you mean. Vultures, the whole lot.”</p><p>Okay, yup, strategic retreat has been moved up to right fucking <em> now</em>, she needs to find Irina and get the hell out of this shop before something...untowards happens. She likes Eve already and doesn’t want anything to be revealed that would make everyone around her much less predisposed to liking her back.</p><p>“There you are!”</p><p>Villanelle, along with Eve and Elena, turn to see Irina at the opposite end of the row they’re all standing in. Oh, wonderful. She tries to send a look of pure deathly warning at Irina, who promptly gives her the finger in return despite having no idea what’s going on. </p><p>Why, why, <em> why </em>is this the miserable cousin she’s been saddled with? She must have been some sort of assassin or mass murderer in another life to have racked up this kind of karmic debt, there is no other explanation. </p><p>Irina stomps over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Can we go now? I’m <em> starving</em>.”</p><p>Okay, Villanelle can work with this. “Yeah, of course.” She turns and shoves <em> Gone Girl </em>back into the shelf before giving Eve and Elena a tight smile. “Looks like my cousin here is hungry! Teenagers, what can you do, am I right?”</p><p>She laughs, not at all forced or manic. Irina looks at her like she’s gone mad. Eve just smiles back. “Yes, of course. But tell me, do you live in the area? We’re always hoping for more locals to stop in.”</p><p>Oh god. “Um, haha, I’m just here for work, actually.”</p><p>Before she can say anything else, or literally just turn around and run away, her existential curse is speaking up. “But she’ll be here for the next few months! Her rented flat isn’t that far.”</p><p>Eve raises her brows, looking amused and a bit indulgent in the face of this overeager teenager. Villanelle tries not to punch herself in the face. “Is that so?” </p><p>Villanelle just nods, not trusting herself to say a damn thing. </p><p>Eve inspects her again, and this time there is <em> definitely </em>a spark of appreciation in her gaze, something that Villanelle would usually be all over but as it is just ratchets up her desperation to get out of there even higher. “Well. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime soon, then.”</p><p>Oh god oh god oh god. “Yes, I think you will.” And <em> that </em>is just the unfortunate truth. </p><p>“And I didn’t catch your name…?”</p><p>This time Villanelle claps a hand over Irina’s mouth before the brat can speak up again and sink them both. “Oksana. I’m Oksana.” </p><p>She can feel Irina’s befuddled stare burning into her — she never uses her given name outside of professional use if she can help it — but just smiles determinedly at Eve.</p><p>Eve glances between her and Irina — she belatedly drops her hand from Irina’s face, trying not to grimace because the disgusting little demon definitely <em> licked </em>her — before smiling slowly. “Oksana. Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“And I’m Irina.” Broken free from Villanelle’s grasp, and clearly displeased at her treatment so far, Irina has decided to make her presence known, it seems. Super.</p><p>Eve purses her lips, trying to hide her amusement. “It’s a pleasure, Irina.”</p><p>Irina preens. “Likewise, and actually I think we’ll all be seeing more of each other, because we are opening a—”</p><p>“Oh my god, the time! We have to go!” Villanelle grabs Irina by the arm and bodily hauls her out of the aisle, looking back at Eve and Elena’s perplexed faces to shout, “We have to meet my uncle! Nice meeting you both!”</p><p>The last thing she sees is Eve raising a bemused hand.</p><p>She doesn’t let go of Irina until they are safely out of the shop and down the block, Irina pulling free with a huff. “What is <em> wrong </em>with you, you lunatic?!”</p><p>“You almost blew our cover, you idiot!”</p><p>“What cover? Oh god, have you finally lost the last of your sanity?” Irina’s eyes widen. “Are you in some kind of spy delusion right now?”</p><p>“You were going to tell them who we are! We are the same people who are about to sink their business, Irina!”</p><p>Irina pauses and gives her a searching look. “Yeah, and? It’s not personal, Villanelle. Just business. Since when do you care, anyway?”</p><p>Villanelle pauses. Eve’s face reappears in her mind, unbidden. “I— I don’t. It’s just, we don’t have to rub their faces in it.”</p><p>Irina stares at her for a moment longer before shrugging abruptly. “Okay, whatever. They’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”</p><p>She sniffs at Villanelle before fixing her jacket with a huff and setting off again. Villanelle stares at her, aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach. Because the brat is right. There’s no way Eve will not find out who she is, sooner or later. And then she will hate her. </p><p>But why does she care so much? </p><p>Her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out automatically to see a new Twitter DM. </p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Always an interesting time dealing with members of the public</p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Can’t decide if you’d be a charm or a pain in the ass to deal with </p><p> </p><p>She smiles and begins to type out a response, feet moving as Irina impatiently calls for her to keep up.</p><p>But that sinking feeling doesn’t go away.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this will totally go completely fine with no issues whatsoever!</p><p>thanks for reading. </p><p>@lightfighterfic on twitter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As she’s talked, Eve has looked more and more murderous — there is no other way to say it, a dark glint entering her eyes and her jaw clenching, and for a moment Villanelle almost thinks she’ll snatch up the cake knife from the table and attempt to stab her with it. </p><p>(And this thought really should not send the dark pulse through her that it does.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So how’s the bookselling business?”</p><p>“Bill, you literally work in publishing.”</p><p>“Yes, but I’m asking from the retail side of things.”</p><p>“Fine. It’s shit, thanks for asking.”</p><p>He grins at her over the top of his pint glass. “You know, Eve, your sunny disposition and unrelenting optimism are my favorite things about you.”</p><p>Eve snorts. “Oh yeah? How’s the publishing biz, then?”</p><p>Bill’s grin deepens. “Shit.”</p><p>“There we are then.”</p><p>He raises his glass in salute.</p><p>They drink, and then he says, “But really. I heard the Villanelle Books outpost is opening soon.”</p><p>Eve sighs. “Like I need the reminder. I walk past the damn site every morning. You should see the team at the shop, it’s like a slow-moving funeral in there.”</p><p>He hums sympathetically. “So they’re not taking it well, I take it?”</p><p>“More like they think <em> I’m </em> not taking it well. Elena and Kenny are treating me like I’m on suicide watch and Hugo — <em> Hugo </em> — has been bringing me coffee from Caffe Nero every morning.”</p><p>“Good lord,” Bill replies, laughing. “Things are quite dire, then, if <em> Hugo </em> is feeling called to action. He’s not exactly the most, er, sensitive bloke, is he?”</p><p>“...I may be playing it up a little bit around him,” Eve admits. “Yesterday I stared at my blank computer screen without blinking and made him say my name four times before looking up. I’ve never seen him so alarmed.”</p><p>“Oh, masterfully done.”</p><p>“Who am I to turn down free coffee?”</p><p>“The manipulation makes it taste all the better.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>They delve into a not uncomfortable silence for a bit before Eve speaks again, the mirth fading from her voice. “I mean, it is shit though.”</p><p>Bill, bless him, says nothing, but just looks at her, listening.</p><p>“I love the bookstore. But we’re barely holding on as it is. I don’t need some overpaid consultant to tell me that the Villanelle Books down the street is going to be the final nail in the coffin.”</p><p>He grimaces, not disputing the point, and Eve tips her head into her hands, staring disconsolately at the bar table. “Fucking pricks. They don’t even need this store, they're already making bank online. Elena was right, this is just some kind of sick victory cigar to them.”</p><p>“Eve…”</p><p>She doesn’t reply, but lets a hand fall onto the table between them, and after a moment he reaches over and squeezes it comfortingly. “Eve, I know how much the store means to you. I love it too — you’ve done an amazing job with the place. I don’t want you to give up, but...don’t ever think this is the end of the road for you, alright? You’re too brilliant to not have even better things around the corner.”</p><p>She looks up at him, lips quirking up at the corners. “Flatterer.”</p><p>“I’m not! Actually, this is more about me than anything else, you know I only associate with interesting successful people.” </p><p>She nods sympathetically. “To give you something to aspire you?”</p><p>He draws back in mock outrage, and she bursts into laughter; he drops the act and joins in after a moment. “You’re lucky you’re my best mate, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Poor Keiko is sick of us.”</p><p>“On the contrary, she enjoys having someone to foist me on to.” He examines her, and then adds carefully, “Seriously, though...you know we’re always looking for new blood at the imprint.”</p><p>“Oh god, this again?” </p><p>“I’m serious!” He peers at her, and she can’t help but relent at the sincerity in his eyes. “Eve, you’d make a brilliant editor. I’ve seen you dissect novels, get at their bones without breaking a sweat. You know what makes a good crime novel, what makes a bad one, and most importantly, what makes them <em> successful</em>.” </p><p>“Bill, I have the shop. It may be in dire straits, but it’s...it’s still mine, you know? And that matters to me.”</p><p>“I know all that. And I get it, I really do. But...just think about it, okay?”</p><p>His gaze turns imploring, and she raises her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll think about it. But first, I have to figure out how to avoid every damn person at Villanelle Books. Starting with Konstantin Vasiliev and down the list of every member of his family at the company.” She drains her glass with a scowl. “Goddamn market-devouring unchecked-capitalism nepotism mill. Makes me <em> rage</em>.”</p><p>“I think it’s just him and his niece at the top, actually.”</p><p>“Oh, whatever. I’d love to give him <em> or </em>her a piece of my mind.”</p><p>“Nothing too violent planned, I hope. Better to keep your crime novels strictly fiction.” He gives her a look that says he’s aware of just how cool she finds all things cops and robbers and spies. (Also, murderers.)</p><p>“Pleading the Fifth.”</p><p>“We’re in England, Eve. Saying that doesn’t do anything.”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>He laughs. “Well, short of going into hiding I’m not sure what to suggest, but I do have an idea of how you can get more intel on the situation, at least.”</p><p>Eve perks up. She loves research, and if it can reasonably count as fieldwork, all the better, spy work is just so <em> cool </em>— and once more thank god Bill hasn’t yet broken into her internal monologue, the resulting roasting would be unbearable. “I’m listening.”</p><p>He looks at her sideways in a way that almost makes her doubt her certainty regarding the impenetrability of her private monologue, but just replies, “The imprint is hosting a cocktail party this Friday, you know, the usual industry hobnobbing. Some of your indie bookstore compatriots will be there, probably. Come with me.”</p><p>“I <em> hate </em>networking, Bill.”</p><p>“Who doesn’t? But this way you can get the inside story on this whole Villanelle situation, maybe make some allies. Bemoan the state of the industry, at the very least.”</p><p>She stares at him flatly. </p><p>“And, if all else fails, free booze?”</p><p>“...Fine.”</p><p>“That’s my girl.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Do you ever feel like you’re headed for a dead-end no matter what you do?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: of course. i think that is just part of life sometimes</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: What do you do then?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b> : get a sledgehammer, and start breaking the wall down 🔨</p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: i am not very good at being told things are not possible, you see</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Ha. Why am I not surprised?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: 😌😎😎</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>The party hosted by Bill’s publishing imprint, Manderley Press, is, to Eve’s complete lack of surprise, as tame and vaguely corporate as she feared, but there is also the ample free booze Bill promised, and a rather impressive spread at the buffet — she thinks she sees caviar, for god’s sake — to boot.</p><p>She thought publishing was experiencing its own existential growing pains, but you wouldn’t know it from its parties; considering her usual definition of “business dinners” consists of pizza (no more than two toppings, she’s not made of money, okay) and a six-pack at the shop with the team, she’ll happily keep her thoughts to herself (well, she might mutter a zinger or two to Bill, but that’s practically the same thing). </p><p>She’ll even exchange blatantly artificial warm greetings and small-talk with people she’s barely acquainted with, even if Bill does insist on introducing her to some of his colleagues in a painfully transparent attempt at getting her more interested in a potential job, but again, price of admission. And Bill looks so chuffed about the whole thing Eve can’t really bring herself to feel anything more than mildly irritated amusement.</p><p>She does, after a bit, part ways with him and bump into the “indie bookstore compatriots” he mentioned would be present, and at least with them her conversation turns a bit more genuine, and by that she means <em> bleak</em>; no one is exactly making money hand over fist, it seems, but there is at least a sort of miserable camaraderie about the whole thing. The general sentiment remains the same: online shopping is the devil, corporations are its right-hand man, and finally, that everyone always wants to talk about how much they love local bookstores, as if it’s some sort of personality trait, but when time comes to actually <em> buy </em>the book they’re taking a photo of for their Instagram, the crowd suddenly dwindles.</p><p>(Yes, they are a rather bitter group. It is what it is, and anyway, you would be too.)</p><p>The general grimness eventually turns to discussion of the Villanelle Books store opening near Murder By the Book — everyone agrees it’s wildly unnecessary and really just a dick move, but then, that’s the corporate outfits for you. There doesn’t seem to be much optimism about the long term future of her store, either, or much in the way of attempts to gloss over this depressing truth — these really <em> are </em>her people, god help her. </p><p>“Konstantin Vasiliev is a real shark,” one of the men, Jamie, says, and there’s a hum of agreement. “I’ve never met a man more interested in self-preservation over anything and everything else.”</p><p>“I’ve heard his niece is just as cutthroat — profits over everything,” adds someone else. “I don’t even know if she <em> likes </em>books.”</p><p>“Bill said she’s the number two at the company?” Eve asks. </p><p>Jamie nods. “She’s being groomed to take over — Vasiliev has heart issues and is getting a bit long in the tooth. And, to be fair, she’s got a brilliant mind for business — since she’s come on board the company has claimed a huge chunk of market share.” He shakes his head. “She just doesn’t seem to mind the fact that she’s fucking us all over in the process.”</p><p>This spurs another general round of discontent, and after a bit Eve disengages — she can bitch with the best of them, but even she has a limit on how much she can take before she needs to tap out — or at least reenergize with alcohol before once more joining the fray.</p><p>She heads for the bar, neatly evading a few more of Bill’s coworkers looking to make conversation along the way — seriously, <em> what </em>did Bill tell these people — and finally reaches her destination with no small amount of relief, shouldering between the group already clustered there. “White wine, please.”</p><p>The bartender nods, and she leans against the counter to wait. </p><p>And notices that the person standing next to her, facing slightly away, looks oddly familiar. </p><p>She frowns. There’s no reason for her to be here, and Eve’s not even sure that it <em> is </em>her, but… “Oksana?”</p><p>For a second, the woman stiffens — or seems to stiffen, it’s over almost before Eve can process it — and then she turns, a certain hesitance in her movement. </p><p>It <em> is </em>Oksana. Eve smiles, pleased, if confused. “Well, hello. Um, sorry, do you remember me? I own the bookstore, Murder By the Book — you came by recently with your cousin?”</p><p>Oksana smiles back, though there is still a certain reserve to her that wasn’t present in their first meeting. “Hi, Eve. Yes, of course I remember you.”</p><p>Eve can’t deny her warm suffuse of pleasure at this reply. This woman, who is charming and funny and likes <em> Gone Girl </em> and is ridiculously attractive, remembers her too. “Oh, thank god — this would have been too awkward for words otherwise, I hate being that person. How’s Irina? That was her name, right?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, it is — and she’s, um, good. Terrorizing the public, et cetera.” Oksana laughs, the sound somewhat strained.</p><p>“Right…” This is awkward in a way their first exchange wasn’t. Maybe Oksana is just not great at parties? Or perhaps she’s feeling out of place. “I didn’t know you work in the book business. Or do you just know someone at Manderley?”</p><p>Oksana’s face definitely flickers this time, before she replies, “I do know people at Manderley, it’s a great imprint. Good titles.” She casts a glance at the bartender, her fingers drumming on the counter. If Eve didn’t know better she’d say the other woman looks almost nervous. Wow, she must have a lot of social anxiety.</p><p>But her reply doesn’t really answer Eve’s question, of course, and she opens her mouth to say just that when the bartender places a glass on the bar. “Your gin and tonic, miss.”</p><p>Oksana grabs it with nothing short of relief, taking a healthy sip before straightening and smiling tightly at Eve. “It was lovely seeing you again, Eve. Enjoy your evening.”</p><p>And with that — not even waiting for a reply! — she turns and disappears into the crowd, walking at speed, her distinctive patterned suit soon lost in the throngs of people.</p><p>Eve stares after her, mouth open. What the hell just happened? Because first off, um, <em> rude</em>. Secondly, she’s now wondering if she’s misread every single one of their interactions thus far, because before this moment she could’ve sworn there was a certain...attraction between them (and <em> not </em>one-sided, thank you very much). </p><p>And now she’s feeling very dumb, and not a little embarrassed. </p><p>(But also, <em> why </em>is Oksana even here?)</p><p>So it is in a distinctly worse mood that she collects her wine from the bartender, intent on draining it, making her apologies to Bill, and getting the hell out of there before she can bump into Oksana again; she really doesn’t think she can bear a repeat encounter.</p><p>She’s barely made it ten feet before Bill himself appears, looking tense. “Eve!”</p><p>“Bill! Good timing, I was just about to go looking for you—”</p><p>“Eve, what on earth were you doing? Were you <em> thinking?</em> I thought you promised to play nice!”</p><p>She pauses. “Uh, what? I was just at the bar, was going to head out soon—”</p><p>“Yes, Eve, you were at the bar. Talking to <em> Oksana Astankova</em>.”</p><p>He stares at her, brows furrowed, as if this should mean something to her. She hates to disappoint him (she doesn’t), but, well. “Uh, yeah. She came by the bookshop recently, we talked— wait, how do <em> you </em>know her?” A thought strikes her. “Oh my god, does she work in the book business? Does she work for Manderley?”</p><p>Bill blinks at her, mouth opening, closing. She stares back at him, eyebrows raised. “Um, are you okay?”</p><p>“You say she came by the <em> shop</em><em>?</em>”</p><p>“Yeah. With her cousin.”</p><p>“With her—” He stops short, seems to gather himself. “You...have no idea who she is, do you?”</p><p>“Uh...should I?”</p><p>“Eve.” He heaves an enormous breath. “Eve, that was Oksana Astankova.”</p><p>“Yes, Bill, you’ve said that.”</p><p>“Of <em> Villanelle Books</em>. She’s Kostantin Vasiliev’s niece, the one I mentioned — his number two.” He meets her eyes, looking troubled. “She’s the one behind their new store, Eve. And you were chatting with her. At the <em> bar</em>.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Villanelle never should’ve come. The party is boring, the guests largely dull and badly dressed, the hors d'oeuvres uninspired. This, like many great blunders in her life, was Konstantin’s idea, and thus his fault. He was <em> sooo </em>bent on her attending, on them starting to make further inroads with some of the local figures in the industry and hopefully forge some valuable contacts, now that they are putting down physical roots here. </p><p>Manderley is a good imprint, that much is true; they know how to sign real talent and consistently put out smart, entertaining titles that will sell, which is already more than she can say for many other publishing outfits. And she <em> has </em>had some interesting conversations with some of its employees, and a few others who perhaps will be useful in the future as she continues to map out her grand vision for the company.</p><p>But she’s also perfectly aware of the frosty reception she’s been given in more than a few quarters of this little gathering, even from some of the Manderley team, who as a publishing imprint surely have no skin in the game — they just need shops to carry their books, and who better than the vast Villanelle Books, that ships all over the world, faster and cheaper than anyone else — but then this is why she generally fails to see the appeal of interpersonal relationships. </p><p>So, she is the big bad wolf to these people, the symbol of all that is wrong with the industry and the source of many of their problems. Certainly that is the case for the little gaggle of independent booksellers she saw standing in a corner, clutching grimly to their glasses and looking more like they were attending a wake than a industry cocktail party. </p><p>Villanelle doesn’t have any particular desire to be a monster. She certainly doesn’t think of herself as one; “captain of industry” or “visionary business leader” have much better rings to them, anyway, and are obviously more accurate. She knows there is collateral damage, but then, isn’t there always? Such is the way of the world.</p><p>But no one told her <em> Eve </em>would be here. </p><p>She had barely a second to get a hold of herself when she saw Eve appear out of nowhere, managing to shoulder through the crowd to the front of the bar, and had no sooner turned away was the woman saying her name.</p><p>Why did she tell her her real name, again?</p><p>Oh, right. To conceal the truth of her identity in that moment, and keep from becoming Eve’s least favorite person, for at least a little bit longer.</p><p>Well, <em> that </em>plan is going great.</p><p>She has a sudden, strong urge to pull out her phone and message @true_crime77 (and god, she really needs to think of a better way to refer to her Twitter...friend, that username just gets more annoying the more she thinks of it), but stamps it down; she can’t think of any good way to frame her increasingly stressed thoughts in an innocuous manner at the moment, and really she should just leave first. Eve will find out the truth, now, and Villanelle would like to put off the inevitable, uncomfortable conversation if she can. </p><p>She is making her way to the exit, exchanging brief words of farewell with the few tolerable people she’s chatted with, when she passes by the dessert buffet, and her feet slow. Okay, yes, she needs to beat a hasty escape, but that chocolate torte looks really good, and she’s still quite hungry after the less than satisfying hors d'oeuvres and surely has a moment to nab a slice?</p><p>It is as she is spooning the first bite into her mouth that Judgement Day comes. </p><p>“<em>You</em>.”</p><p>Villanelle freezes. Is this what Adam felt like when God caught him after the snake catfished him, or whatever, theology has never been her strong suit?</p><p>She turns, cake still in her mouth and in her hand. Eve stares back at her, the fury of a thousand avenging angels (or whatever) fairly radiating from her. </p><p>She swallows. “Hi, Eve.”</p><p>“Don’t.” Eve stares at her, and wow this is not the most appropriate time for this, Villanelle knows, but also incensed is a <em> really </em>great look for Eve, her eyes are intent and brows drawn down and hands in fists at her sides, and oh no she has let her hair down, Eve is not playing fair and she doesn't even know she’s doing it.</p><p>“Um, sorry?”</p><p>Eve looks at the plate still in her hand, and lets out a short, utterly humorless laugh. “Cake, really? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”</p><p>Villanelle looks down at the offending dessert in question before hastily setting the plate aside. “I’m not sure what you mean.”</p><p>“Let them eat…”</p><p>Villanelle gapes at her for a second before breaking into disbelieving laughter, some of her anxiety and concern dissipating in the first wisps of familiar anger. “Wait, are you implying I am...<em> Marie Antoinette </em> in this scenario?”</p><p>“I am <em> implying </em>that you have been purposefully misleading me since the moment we met, Oksana.”</p><p>Villanelle grits her teeth. At this moment the utterance of her first name is another reminder of her idiocy, which in turn just irritates her further. “I have not said a single untrue thing to you.”</p><p>“Lying by omission is still lying. In town for work for the next few months? Right, to open the physical manifestation of your enormous ego and singular indifference <em> down the street!</em>”</p><p>That does it. Villanelle straightens, feeling her mouth curve into the smirk guaranteed to piss off its every recipient. If Eve wants the big bad wolf she’s so sure is standing in front of her, well, who is Villanelle to defy her? “Yes, I am that Oksana, of Villanelle Books. I do not deny that we are opening a store here in London, or that it is near your shop.” She sneers. “Is there something <em> specific </em>you’d like to ask me?”</p><p>Eve’s eyes flash, and she takes a step forward. “Were you spying on me? That day, when you came in.”</p><p>“<em>Spying </em> on you? Why on earth would I do that?”</p><p>“I am your competition!”</p><p>Villanelle has to laugh — not that she tries that hard to suppress it. “You are my <em> competition? </em> Sorry, what do you think is happening here, Eve? Don’t get me wrong, yours is a... <em> charming </em> little shop, I like what you’ve done with it. You probably sell, what, 350,000 pounds in revenue in a year?”</p><p>Eve’s mouth drops before she closes it firmly, looking annoyed with herself. “How did you know that?”</p><p>Villanelle smirks. “I’m in the book business, Eve.” She takes a step towards Eve, hands sliding into her trouser pockets. “Me, a spy? Oh, sure.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially, though the quieter tone in no way lessens the intensity. “In fact, I have reviewed top-secret information — the sales numbers of bookshops like yours, so inconsequential and yet full of its own virtue, that I had to rush over to your store immediately, for fear that you were going to put me out of business!”</p><p>As she’s talked, Eve has looked more and more murderous — there is no other way to say it, a dark glint entering her eyes and her jaw clenching, and for a moment Villanelle almost thinks she’ll snatch up the cake knife from the table and attempt to stab her with it. </p><p>(And this thought <em> really </em>should not send the dark pulse through her that it does.)</p><p>“You’re going to regret this.” Eve’s voice is deadly in its intensity.</p><p>“I doubt that very much.”</p><p>They stare at each other, both breathing hard, neither breaking eye contact. Villanelle has never felt so aware of another person; the tension crackles.</p><p>“Eve, there you are!”</p><p>Both jump at the intrusion, and Villanelle realizes abruptly how close they are to each other, almost nose to nose. When did <em> that </em>happen? She takes a sharp step back, looking over to see that man from Manderley Press, Bill, walking up to them. He wears a slightly strained smile, but in that moment Villanelle could not care less; she barely waits for him to finish approaching before she is clearing her throat and walking away, no patience left for whatever peacemaking comments surely are about to be delivered.</p><p>Adrenalin mixed with anger continues to race through her; her heart pounds. She can feel Eve’s gaze burning into her back.</p><p>She absolutely should not have come tonight.</p><p>It is only when she is outside, the cold wind buffeting her, that the hottest of her ire cools. She blinks, and Eve’s face, at the moment Villanelle called her business inconsequential, appears in her mind. </p><p>Villanelle doesn’t think she’s imagining the spark of hurt that came and went in that moment.</p><p>She scowls, and wills it away. She said nothing that Eve didn’t invite upon herself. </p><p>Another blast of chilly wind rocks her, and she gratefully seizes the distraction. Where the bloody <em> hell </em>is her driver?</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: Forever amazed at the sheer volume of sanctimonious assholes in the world</p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: i know exactly how you feel.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>aw, they're bonding!</p><p>thanks for reading.</p><p>@lightfighterfic on the tweeting mechanism</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>@true_crime77: I want to meet you, too.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> hello, tc. hope you are having a better week than me</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> tc?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> i have to call you something, and your username is officially too painful to be acknowledged</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> What’s wrong with my username??</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> I like true crime, hello. My user is descriptive and straightforward</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> 🙄</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> and let me guess, 77 is your birth year?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>@true_crime77: ...</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>oh, don’t get all worked up. It’s a simple deduction...you’ve mentioned enough about your favorite books from when you were a kid</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> I don’t know whether to be impressed or deeply creeped out. </p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> I get that reaction a lot 😁😁</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> but also, you retweet a lot of boomer memes, tc. no offense</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>I’m not even a Boomer!! I’m Gen X!!</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> 🤷♀️</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> God. This prompts me to confirm once again that you are NOT a minor</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>aw, you are so concerned, it is cute. but you can relax, i am not a minor</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: 😑 </b>Just more proof that the internet was a mistake</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> hey!! i think i am offended. also, great emoji use 💯</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> but are you ok? did something happen?</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>i also wanted to ask you something but you go first</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Ugh, it’s a long, annoying story. Just dealing with some work st</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Hell<em>ooo</em>, earth to Eve!”</p><p>Eve jumps and scrambles to minimize the internet tab she’s been gazing at. Elena looks on from the other side of the counter, unimpressed. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”</p><p>“Uh, no, no.” Eve clears her throat. “Just, you know, reading the...news.”</p><p>Elena looks doubtfully at her, then at the game of Solitaire open on the computer, which Eve was playing before Villanelle messaged her. Eve glowers. “Excuse me, I’m very busy, and stressed, and taking a much needed break, and also, I’m the boss, so <em> there</em>.”</p><p>Elena rolls her eyes, leaning lazily against the counter. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, <em> boss</em>. Anyway, so about what you were really doing—” </p><p>“Excuse me—”</p><p>“—You were talking to your Twitter friend again, weren’t you?”</p><p>Eve stops short. Elena waggles her eyebrows, grinning. “I...that’s not...how do you know about that?!” A horrible thought strikes her. “Oh god, are you spying on me <em> too</em>?!”</p><p>“Too?” Elena looks at her confusedly — Eve doesn’t have the energy to explain — before continuing. “And anyway, no, you leave your Twitter up on the computer, like, all the time. The <em> shop </em> computer. You’re...not very discreet. It was impossible to <em> not </em>notice.” She winces. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Oh...oh god.” Eve rubs her forehead, feeling the first throbs of a headache coming on. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”</p><p>Elena shakes her head furiously. “What? No, Eve, not at all! It’s 2020, who cares if you met someone online? I think it’s brilliant, actually, you needed a pick-me-up after Niko and even if Tinder is more typical for these kinds of things using Twitter is actually kind of genius—”</p><p>“Wait.” Eve holds up a hand. “Elena, <em> what</em>?”</p><p>“Um…” Elena pauses, looks uncertain for the first time. “Uh, well. You’re having a bit of an online romance with this person, yeah?”</p><p>Eve gapes at her. “What? Elena, what are you talking about? Okay, yes, I chat with someone on Twitter, but it’s not...like that.”</p><p>“Oh. Um.” Elena hesitates. “Sorry. I just thought…”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Well, I dunno…” She gives Eve a sideways look. “Like...are you sure?”</p><p>“Considering I’m the one involved, <em> yes</em>.”</p><p>“Okay…” Elena throws up her hands when Eve glares at her. “What! Look, I’m just saying, your conversation — the one that was already up, don’t give me that look — was quite...flirty. Hugo saw it too, we both agreed you were seeing someone—”</p><p>But Eve has stopped listening. “I’m sorry, did you just say <em> Hugo </em>saw it?”</p><p>Elena seems to play back her words, winces. “Uh, yes?” She hastily continues on when Eve opens her mouth to deliver a no doubt blistering diatribe. “He’s the one who first logged in, okay? And we didn’t snoop — uh, after that first conversation, I mean — I <em> swear </em>. We were happy for you!”</p><p>She peers imploringly at Eve, and after a moment Eve deflates abruptly, anger leaking from her, and tips her head into her hands, elbows on the counter. “God, this is humiliating.”</p><p>After a second Elena reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “Eve, it’s okay. Really. Honestly, it was cute, okay?”</p><p>“It’s dumb as hell,” Eve replies miserably. “I’m way too old for this shit. And she doesn’t even live in London.”</p><p>She realizes what she’s said as soon as it leaves her mouth, and looks up to see Elena grinning at her. “<em> She</em>? Good lord, Eve, you don’t do things by halves, do you?”</p><p>Eve can only chuckle, the sound not terribly amused. “Apparently not.”</p><p>Elena powers on, perhaps sensing not to prod further on that topic. “Well, who cares about where she is? The beauty of modern travel. And you’re not too old, woman, you’re barely 43. She doesn’t care, clearly — she talks to you a <em> lot </em> — and, okay, we <em> may </em>have read a bit more; she’s clearly mad over you.” She smiles sheepishly when Eve shoots her another glare. “Just saying.”</p><p>“...God.” Eve sighs enormously, massages her temples. “I can’t believe I’m even talking to you about this.” </p><p>Elena shrugs, looking smug. “What can I say, I’m a great talker. And listener. Talker-listener. Conversationalist? People always tell me things.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe I should go into therapy.”</p><p>“...Sure, let’s go with that.”</p><p>“Perfect. Anyway, too bad about her username, though, eh? Like we need another reminder of the elephant in the room.” (Somehow the entire team has caught wind of Eve’s no-holds-barred argument with Oksana at the Manderley Press party, and has stopped mentioning her or the upcoming store altogether.) </p><p>“I mean, ‘villanelle is right’ — quite the ego our specimen has.” Elena shakes her head. “Quite an unfortunate coincidence too — I wonder if she just is a fan of the business, or…?”</p><p>“No,” Eve replies firmly. “God, no. Ugh, could you imagine? No, she just likes poetry. You know, a villanelle is a type of poem? It’s some kind of family nickname for her, apparently.” </p><p>“Oh.” Elena ponders this for a second before shrugging. “Weird.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Eve smiles wryly. “Believe me, that’s one of the first things I asked her. At this point I don’t associate her with the business at all, funnily enough — she occupies her own separate space in my head completely.”</p><p>Elena stares at her, lips spreading into a smirk. “Wow, Eve, that’s, uh...really special—”</p><p>“Oh, piss off—”</p><p>“—I’m guessing<em> I </em> don’t occupy a special separate space in your head, bit rude—”</p><p>“Don’t make me fire you—”</p><p>Elena bursts into laughter as she dashes away from the counter, and Eve can only glare after her before giving up and dissolving into laughter herself.</p><p>And then, once she’s sure Elena has fled — no doubt to the back room where Kenny sits, and if Elena knows then <em> he </em>knows, wonderful — she pulls up the internet browser again, sees her last message, still half-typed and unsent. And the messages that have appeared from Villanelle in her absence.</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> ?</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>i guess you are busy with something</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>well, what i was going to say was, maybe, if you wanted, we could meet. in person, i mean</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>i am in london for a bit for work</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b>. i like talking to you. i think it could be fun, no?</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>only if you wanted to, of course</p><p> </p><p>Eve’s lack of reply must have spurred some panic, because there is the line break to indicate a gap between messages, and then: </p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, of course</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>and i’m NOT a minor, haha</p><p> </p><p>And then, finally: </p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>let’s just forget i said anything</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>we can just keep things how they are now</p><p> </p><p>And then nothing at all. There is a certain dejectedness to the silence.</p><p>Eve stares at the messages, aware that her heart has picked up speed. </p><p>Villanelle wants to meet. Villanelle wants to meet <em> her</em>. Villanelle wants to meet her <em> in person, in London</em>. </p><p>Oh god. </p><p>Without thinking, she closes the browser completely before standing abruptly, rounding the counter at speed and heading for the door. She needs a cigarette. </p><p>(She had quit for a while, Niko hated it, but that’s not an issue anymore and with the stress of the store’s problems and Villanelle Books and that fight with Oksana — look, she just really needs one, okay?) </p><p>The thing she has been thinking about, but so privately and quietly she can barely admit it even to herself, has suddenly and unexpectedly manifested in front of her. Right after she discussed it with Elena, no less. </p><p>She goes through the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, lost in thought. She thinks about what she wants, about her talk with Elena. Argues with herself, weighs the pros and cons. Villanelle could be an axe murderer, of course. Or not even a woman, for that matter. This could be the world’s most successful case of catfishing. (Bill would laugh enormously for about five minutes before telling her to go for it.) </p><p>Unbidden, the thought of Oksana flits through her mind — what the <em> fuck</em>, brain — before she snuffs it out furiously. </p><p>And then, as she finishes closing for the day, she pulls out her phone and does what she was going to do all along. She’s never been very good at pulling back when she could push forward, not when the answer is just there out of reach. She has to know. Always, always. </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> I want to meet you, too.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>“Oh god, oh god, how do I look?!”</p><p>Irina gives her a supremely displeased look. “Do I look like I care?”</p><p>Villanelle tilts her head back and groans. (Several people, walking past them on the sidewalk, give her an extra-wide berth.) “For the love of god, Irina, will you just tell me?”</p><p>Irina side eyes her again but, then, perhaps seeing her pure desperation, sighs, enormously put out, and looks her up and down. “You look fine, okay. You look like...you.”</p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?!”</p><p>“It means, just…” Irina gestures at her with an outstretched arm. “You are doing your Villanelle thing, you know. Good suit and all that.” She pauses, then adds, sounding like it’s being pulled out of her with hooks, “You could look worse.”</p><p>Villanelle blinks. That’s saying a lot, from Irina, and frankly is rather unexpected. She finds herself a bit touched. “Oh. Well, thanks.”</p><p>Irina just grunts. </p><p>They walk a few more steps, and then Irina says, “I still don’t really understand what is happening right now.”</p><p>Villanelle blows out a breath. Frankly, neither does she. All she knows is that she’s been stressed and pissed the whole damn week, getting into silly arguments with Konstantin and being unnecessarily snappy with her team, and all since that fight with Eve. And then one exchange with TC — <em> one</em>, she is truly pathetic — and it was like a breath of fresh air and peace and much needed levity, her irritation draining from her — and next she knew she was in the grips of some sort of temporary insanity and proposing that they meet. </p><p>In person. </p><p>Though TC’s initial radio silence just about killed her, it was the eventual agreement that <em> really </em>did her in. Her Twitter friend wants to meet her, too. </p><p>And now she is walking to the cafe TC suggested — and though Villanelle would usually propose some sort of swank bar on a first date, given the unconventional circumstances she acquiesces without argument — with Irina in tow, absolutely losing her mind. </p><p>Why she told Irina, she still does not entirely know. If she is being honest with herself — which she rarely is, out of principle — it’s because she needed to run this past at least one other human being, to verify the extent of her lunacy. And because, well, she just needed to tell <em> someone </em> about TC, and she doesn’t really have anyone else <em> to </em>tell, does she? </p><p>(The fact that this is sad makes itself known; she flicks it away without much thought.)</p><p>She glances at Irina, giving no hint of her inner panic. “What is not to get? I have met someone online. I like her. I am meeting her.”</p><p>“Okay…” Irina pauses. “I mean, the thought of you liking someone is weird, but okay. But why am <em> I </em>here?”</p><p>Villanelle grimaces. Saying this is painful, but… “I need your help.”</p><p>Irina grins, shark-like. “I see. Go on.” </p><p>“I need you to go in before me, see if you can see her. Then come out and report to me.” </p><p>Irina tilts her head before nodding once. “Gross, but I can do it.” She looks at Villanelle, all cool deviousness. “There is a price for my aid, of course.”</p><p>“The price is me not telling Konstantin that you are hacking into your school’s grading system and changing people’s grades for money.” Villanelle rolls her eyes. “We all like a challenge, but honestly, Irina. You have a trust fund. Aim higher.”</p><p>Irina just scowls.</p><p>By this time, though, they have arrived at the block the cafe is on, and Villanelle is suddenly sick with anxiety, her palms sweating. Was this really a good idea? Will their easy rapport be the same in person? Will TC be all Villanelle so hopes for, has been so charmed by? Oh god, what if she stands her up?</p><p>“How will I know it is her?”</p><p>Irina’s question shakes her from her spiralling thoughts. “Um, we...we figured out a strategy. A sign.” She clears her throat, a tad embarrassed. “She will have a copy of <em> Gone Girl </em> on the table.”</p><p>Irina looks deeply pained, but just nods. “What if multiple people have your creepy murder book with them?”</p><p>Villanelle snorts. “Let us assume that will not be the case. I will try some sort of Cinderella strategy then, I don’t know.”</p><p>“If the book fits?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>Her stomach is churning. She’s never been so nervous before a date, never been so nervous <em> ever </em>, perhaps. But she’s never liked talking to anyone so much as she has TC.</p><p>They slow as they approach the cafe. Villanelle looks up at the perfectly pleasant building, feeling an acute sense of doom. Get a grip, get a grip. She looks at Irina. “Off you go, then. Be subtle, for god’s sake.”</p><p>Irina rolls her eyes, but marches off without a complaint, and Villanelle can only watch as she disappears inside.</p><p>A minute passes, two. Villanelle paces, feeling sick. What is the brat doing? Oh god, what if TC isn’t there, has stood her up, or worse, what if she <em> is </em>there, and Irina is talking to her—</p><p>Irina emerges. Villanelle whirls towards her, staying still with an effort. “Well?”</p><p>Irina doesn’t say anything. There is an...odd expression on her face. Not pity, or disgust, or anything truly dire, but odd just the same. </p><p>“What? What is it?”</p><p>Irina takes a breath, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Villanelle stamps down the urge to shake her. “What, dammit?!”</p><p>“Uh...well, she’s there, alright. <em> Gone Girl </em> and all.”</p><p>Villanelle sags in relief. At least her direst fear, of being stood up, is not realized. But Irina still looks hesitant. “Okay, well, that’s good, right?”</p><p>“Yes…” Irina looks off to the side, looking distinctly awkward, before meeting Villanelle’s eyes again. “Uh, but, well. It’s that lady from the murder bookstore. Eve.”</p><p>The words sink into Villanelle and pass through her. She is having trouble making sense of them. Bookstore. Eve. “...No.”</p><p>Irina just nods, even more awkward. “She looks nice, if that helps."</p><p>Villanelle can only shake her head, her previous nausea swept away in pure disbelief. She feels very warm. “No...no, that’s impossible. It can’t be.”</p><p>“Villanelle, it is her. Eve is your internet friend.”</p><p>It is this sentence that finally sinks in. <em> Eve is your internet friend</em>. </p><p>Oh, fuck.</p><p>She must be a sight, because Irina, <em> Irina </em>, is reaching out and patting her awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, small world, right?”</p><p>Villanelle lets out a strangled laugh. Small world. Too small. The last time she saw Eve they were yelling at each other by a dessert table and Eve was calling her ego-centric and she was calling Eve’s business inconsequential. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”</p><p>Irina looks at her cautiously. “So...what are you gonna do?”</p><p>Isn’t that the question. It is not just her fun, engaging, delightfully mysterious internet friend waiting for her inside. Now it is her internet friend who is all those things, and who is also the (gorgeous) local bookshop owner who <em> hates her guts</em>. </p><p>Why must the universe continue to have a laugh at her expense?</p><p>But she cannot face her. There is no way. “I...I have to go. I can’t do this.”</p><p>“You’re leaving?!”</p><p>Villanelle nods grimly. “Let’s go."</p><p>She starts to march off the way they’ve just come. She hears Irina scoff in disbelief behind her, before catching up. “You cannot be serious.”</p><p>Villanelle ignores her, and continues walking. </p><p>“Villanelle! You’re really just going to leave her in there? She’ll think you’ve stood her up.” Irina pauses, and then mutters to herself, “And why the hell <em> I </em> am suddenly so invested, I have no idea.”</p><p>But Villanelle is no longer listening. The thought of Eve sitting there, alone, just sitting there with that stupid book before her...it sends a pang through her chest. Her footsteps start to slow. </p><p>Villanelle was terrified, so terrified, of being stood up. Of being embarrassed, putting herself out there and getting shoved back to earth in the cruelest way possible.</p><p>She finds she cannot do the same to Eve. </p><p>But she cannot reveal herself, either. This she knows for certain; she simply does not have it in her to reveal herself, Oksana, as @villanelleisright, and watch as before her eyes Eve’s regard for her internet confidante shifts to utter contempt. “Irina.”</p><p>Irina looks at her, expression wary. </p><p>“Go on without me. Take an Uber, or something.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Just go, please.”</p><p>Irina looks like she wants to argue, but stops herself and nods. Villanelle turns without another word and retraces her steps to the cafe.</p><p>At the entrance, she pauses, heaves a shaky breath. Through the glass door, she can just see, tucked in a corner, where Eve sits, her wonderfully curly hair giving her away in a second. She does look beautiful. </p><p>Her heart clenches. </p><p>Villanelle inhales, and walks inside. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Eve really hopes she isn’t being stood up. </p><p>She’s been waiting twenty minutes already, has had a glass of wine, under the increasingly pitying eyes of the waiter, and has stopped herself from messaging @villanelleisright twice in that time. She does still have her pride, thank you very much.</p><p>But she thinks she may be being stood up.</p><p>God, this is too humiliating for words. Worst of all is the sheer disappointment growing in her chest. She was so excited, and now...Jesus. </p><p>Maybe her counterpart is just running late. Got tied up in a meeting — she is here for work, after all — and couldn’t get out of it. Or got stuck in the tube. Or got hit by a car. Or—</p><p>The door swings open, and her heart jumps into her throat. </p><p>Oksana Astankova walks in. </p><p>Eve’s hopes freeze before falling to the ground and shattering into a million pieces. No. <em> No </em>. </p><p>Oksana pauses at the entrance. And she looks...so damn good. She’s wearing another suit, this time featuring a dark coat with wide lapels and a tight white tee underneath. It all looks like it cost a month of the shop’s rent. Eve instantly hates herself for noticing, picks up <em> Gone Girl </em> and buries her head into it. How is this happening. This <em> can’t </em>be happening.</p><p>Not only is she being stood up, her nemesis has just walked in to witness her shame.</p><p>Why must the universe continue to have a laugh at her expense?</p><p>Oksana looks around — no, no, please <em> no </em>— and just before she looks in Eve’s direction, Eve lifts the book from the table, trying to hide her face entirely and wishing she could sink into the floor. Is it too late to just hide under the table?</p><p>It appears it is. Though she is staring determinedly at the page in front of her, the words blurring, she can sense Oksana’s stare. And then, she hears footsteps. </p><p>Goddammit, <em> no</em>. </p><p>“Hi, Eve.”</p><p>Yup, this is happening. Eve stares at the page for one more moment, gathering herself, before looking up. “Hello, Oksana.”</p><p>Oksana winces, surprisingly, before clearing her throat and straightening, her demeanor suddenly becoming calm and confident. Her face smooths, the beginnings of a cocky smirk on her lips. How the hell does she <em> do </em>that? It’s like she just flicks a switch. Eve would find it attractive — okay, sexy — but considering she’s decided to hate her for all of eternity as an emblem of runaway capitalism, and also a dick, it’s very inconvenient. </p><p>“What a coincidence.” Oksana nods at the empty chair opposite Eve. “Is this seat taken?”</p><p>“Yes,” Eve snaps. “I’m expecting someone.”</p><p>Oksana nods slowly, hands sliding into her trouser pockets as she makes a great show of looking around. “Well, whoever they are, they must be very late.” She looks back at Eve, eyes running over her. “How rude, for anyone to keep someone like you waiting.”</p><p>Eve flushes. “Thanks, but I didn’t ask.”</p><p>Oksana ignores her. “Well, how about I just keep you company ‘til they show up, hmm?” She doesn’t wait for Eve’s reply as she sinks smoothly into the chair, and then is reaching over and plucking the book out of Eve’s hands before she can even react.</p><p>“<em>Hey</em>—”</p><p>Oksana flips open to the first page and begins to read aloud. “‘Like a child, I picture opening her skull, unspooling her brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down her thoughts.’” She looks up at Eve, who is busy imagining doing the first part of that to her. “Wow, I forgot how much I love this book. Is this how you would like to understand someone, Eve?”</p><p>“I’d do it to you,” Eve grits out, “but I don’t think there’d be anything to catch.”</p><p>Oksana surprises her by laughing, tossing the book back onto the table. “So rude! But also, you are very funny when you want to be.”</p><p>“I’m touched. Can you leave now?”</p><p>Oksana just leans back in her chair, studying her. There is a look of...something on her face, at odds with the arrogant coolness, but before Eve can decipher it the waiter has returned, perhaps in relief that there is finally someone opposite the sad lady in the corner. “Can I get you something, miss?”</p><p>“She’s not staying—”</p><p>“I’ll have whatever the lady here is having, thank you. And another one for her.”</p><p>The waiter looks between them before nodding and hastily retreating; he has more sense, or at least sense of self-preservation, than previously detected. </p><p>Eve stares flatly at her. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you? So <em> charming</em>.”</p><p>Oksana just smiles. “I think you’d discover a lot of things if you really knew me.”</p><p>Eve’s simmering irritation suddenly hits a boiling point, and she leans forward and grinds out, “If I really knew you I know exactly what I’d find — instead of a brain, a cash register; instead of a heart, a bottom line.”</p><p>Oksana’s brows raise. “Wow, Eve. That was the perfect blend of poetry and meanness; I’m impressed.” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I’ve never been called a cash register before, that is a new one.”</p><p>Eve is still focused on the first part of her reply. “<em>Meanness </em>? Oh, that is rich coming from you—” Her sharp retort is cut short by the door swinging open, and they both turn to look at the newcomer; Oksana, in mild interest, Eve, in fervent hope. </p><p>It’s a young couple, wrapped up in each other. Okana grimaces as the woman wraps herself around the man with a doe-eyed gaze. “Ugh.” She turns back to Eve. “Sorry, you were saying?”</p><p>Eve stares at her, anger abruptly draining from her and just leaving her very, very tired. She finds that she doesn’t want to trade barbs with Oksana anymore. “Nothing. Can you just...leave. Please.”</p><p>Oksana pauses, and stares at her for a long moment, before nodding slowly. She rises, and Eve almost sags in relief as she steps away from the table…</p><p>...and walks to the table behind Eve, taking a seat so that she is back to back with Eve. </p><p>Eve tries not to scream. She will not react, she will <em> not</em>. Oksana wants attention, or a reaction, and Eve will give her neither, so help her god. </p><p>She picks up her phone, finally giving in and opening Twitter. Before she can go to her DMs, though, she feels Oksana’s gaze on her, and then, her stupid Russian-accented voice. “Oh, Twitter. I’m on it, too. It’s fun, no?”</p><p>Eve locks her phone and drops it back onto the table, fingers combing through her hair so that they don’t wrap themselves around Oksana’s neck. Oksana’s eyes follow the motion. “Yeah, it’s great, so fun, and once again, I didn’t ask.”</p><p>Oksana just chuckles. </p><p>There is a pause, just long enough for Eve to grow the slightest bit hopeful that Oksana will finally leave her alone, and then: “I never lied to you, you know.”</p><p>That does it. “<em>Excuse </em> me?”</p><p>“I didn’t.”</p><p>“You did.”</p><p>“I did not.”</p><p>“You <em> did</em>.”</p><p>“I—” Oksana rises, rounding the table and once again sitting across from Eve. “I did <em> not</em>.”</p><p>Eve glares daggers at her before dropping her voice in imitation. “Oh, hello, I am Oksana, here is my friendly cousin Irina, yes I’m in the area, I am just here for work, absolutely nothing book related, ahahaha.”</p><p>Oksana stares flatly at her. “Is that supposed to be me?”</p><p>Eve gives a single nod. </p><p>“I do not sound like that. It is not very nice to make fun of my accent, Eve.”</p><p>“Oh, for—” Eve leans in, hands grasping the sides of the table. “Forgive me if I am uncaring of your delicate sensibilities, when you are gunning to take down my store!”</p><p>For the first time a spark of irritation enters Oksana’s eyes. “I am not <em> gunning </em>to do anything like that! I am just opening my own store! Nothing to do with you!”</p><p>“What a load of—”</p><p>“Your drinks, ladies?”</p><p>They both look up at the same time to see the hapless waiter standing there, this time bearing two glasses of wine and looking very much like he wishes he could be anywhere else. He wilts a bit under the combined strength of their glares. </p><p>Eve reins in her temper a bit with sheer force of will. “Thank you.”</p><p>He nods mutely before placing the glasses on the table and disappearing as quickly as possible. Eve can’t blame him. </p><p>Oksana raises her glass and takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving Eve. Eve resists the urge to throw her own in Oksana’s face. She is an adult, goddammit. </p><p>The door opens again, and Eve tears her gaze away to see a very old man slowly making his way in, leaning on a walker. Oksana follows her gaze and smirks. “Oh, is that who you are waiting for?”</p><p>“It is not,” Eve replies tightly. </p><p>“So then,” Oksana says, leaning back in her seat with a thoughtful expression, arms crossed, “Who <em> is </em>this mysterious date?” She raises her eyebrows. “And will you be mean to them too?”</p><p>Eve glares at her. “No, I will not.” She thinks of Villanelle, and finds her voice softening. “Because the person I am waiting for is completely unlike you. She’s kind, and intelligent, and funny — a wicked sense of humor. And—”</p><p>“—<em>And</em>, she’s not here.” Oksana meets her eyes challengingly. “Is she?”</p><p>Eve realizes belatedly that she’s stopped concealing pronouns, and then decides abruptly that she doesn’t care. “Well. If she’s not here, she has good reason. That much I know. She’s better than that, one of the best people I know.” She scoffs. “Not that you’d understand.”</p><p>Oksana rolls her eyes, and Eve continues, her voice heating once more, “You, with your delusions of efficiency and corporate synergy and low, low prices above all else, above every<em> one </em> else. No one will remember you, and maybe no one will remember me, but I’d like to think people will remember my store, and the community around it, and think it was special.” She meets Oksana’s eyes. “If they remember you at all, it will be as nothing but a suit.”</p><p>There is a flash of something, then, in Oksana’s eyes, before the woman is blinking and it is gone. Eve sits back and tries very hard not to react, or really do anything more at all. </p><p>There is a silence. </p><p>Oksana clears her throat. “I think that is my cue.” She rises, withdrawing a fifty pound note from a pocket and placing it on the table. “That should cover the drinks.” She nods at Eve. “Goodnight, Eve.”</p><p>And then she is gone, the door swinging shut behind her.</p><p>And it is Eve’s turn to feel bad. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>Not sure why you didn’t turn up tonight. I was really looking forward to it. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>they sure have a way with words!!</p><p>line from Gone Girl is indeed straight from the book, not mine, go read it</p><p>@lightfighterfic tweet tweet</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It seems everything has an ending, whether you realize it or not. How many times does someone do something, without knowing that, one day, they’ll never do that thing again? That their final time doing it, is their final time? </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eve is TC. Eve is TC. <em> Eve is TC</em>. </p><p>And Eve would happily see her dead. Villanelle would put money down on that, if it wouldn’t just piss Eve off more. </p><p>
  <em> If they remember you at all, it will be as nothing but a suit. </em>
</p><p>Villanelle didn’t know it was possible to hit rock bottom and then, apparently, for that rock to crumble and keep falling down to ever lower levels of miserable dejection, but it seems life is intent on teaching her all manner of fun and out-of-the-box lessons these days. </p><p>She thinks back to how Eve looked at the cafe. She wasn’t wearing her standard turtleneck or rain jacket, like at the shop or the industry party. She was wearing a dress, for god’s sake. Her hair was down. She looked amazing. </p><p>Then she thinks about how Eve looked at <em> her </em>in the cafe. Shock, at the sight of her, and then dread, and then anger, and then, finally, just contempt. And that was worst of all. </p><p>All while Villanelle sat there, and smiled, and lied through her teeth. </p><p>Villanelle is not good with people. </p><p>She knows, objectively, why Eve might be unhappy with her; she is the face of the company that is — however unintentionally — going to, in all likelihood, put her out of business once and for all. </p><p>It’s not like it’s what she meant to do, or what she <em> wants</em>; the Villanelle Books store that is opening, in just a few days’ time, is the culmination and celebration of how far the company has come — how far she has brought it. </p><p>The location was chosen by a whole team under her, deemed ideal for its foot traffic and surroundings after months of painstaking research. No one mentioned the small local bookstore around the corner. </p><p>No one mentioned Eve. </p><p>Villanelle has poured years of her life into the business, taking it places Konstantin could never imagine. She is <em> proud </em>of it, of what she’s achieved. Built it into the towering behemoth that it is now — and sacrificed any social life she might want to maintain in the process. </p><p>Of course, she’s never really missed the lack of a social life; other people are generally dull, or annoying, or both, and meeting women for a night when the mood strikes isn’t terribly difficult. </p><p>And that held true for years — until, purely randomly, she met and started talking to her friend on Twitter, the terribly named @true_crime77. </p><p>Funny, sarcastic, intelligent...<em> different</em>, from anyone else Villanelle has ever met, and who somehow captured her attention, sight unseen, on the <em> internet </em>for god’s sake, and has kept it for all these months. </p><p>The only person that has come even close to occupying some similar amount of space in Villanelle’s head is...</p><p>...Eve. </p><p>Who hates her.</p><p>And is, in fact, that very same Twitter friend. And doesn’t know it.</p><p>It’s just so absurd, all of it. There is an ache in her heart unlike anything she’s ever felt, and her first instinct would be to go talk about it with the person she considers her closest friend, who seems to understand her difficulty with people and social situations and accepts — even seems to like — her anyway.</p><p>But she can’t. Because the pain she is feeling relates directly to that person. Because that person is @true_crime77 who is Eve.</p><p>She’s just so...lonely.</p><p>She can’t even <em> think </em>about the last message she has from TC — from Eve. The pain from reading it the first time was bad enough. Still unanswered, because what can she even say? </p><p>
  <em> Not sure why you didn’t turn up tonight. I was really looking forward to it.  </em>
</p><p>There is irony here, of a terrible, terrible sort. She is not amused. </p><p><em> Nothing but a suit. </em> </p><p>
  <em> Nothing but a suit.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nothing but a suit.  </em>
</p><p>“Villanelle!”</p><p>She blinks — how long has she been staring into space? — and looks at Konstantin. </p><p>He raises his eyebrows at her, exasperated. “I’ve called you three times!” He gestures at the papers spread before her on the boardroom table. “If it’s not too much <em> trouble</em>, we need to finish going over these approvals. The store is days away from opening, there is no time.”</p><p>“You worry too much, Konstantin. There is always time.”</p><p>He sighs. “Of course you would say that.” He glances again at the paperwork before sitting back and crossing his legs, considering her. “What is the matter with you, huh? You are not yourself. You have been working on this for months, and suddenly it is like you wouldn’t care if it never happened at all.”</p><p>She doesn’t reply for a long moment. “Do you ever think about what we do?”</p><p>Konstantin frowns. “We sell books. It is in the name.”</p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Yes, we do. And what about all those little shops, that cannot do what we do? Or as cheaply?”</p><p>Konstantin stares at her, eyebrows raising. “Where is this coming from?”</p><p>She looks away, abruptly annoyed, both with him and with herself. “Nowhere. It’s nothing.”</p><p>A pause follows. </p><p>“What we do...we never would have succeeded the way we have if people did not use our business, <em> love </em> our business. It is simply the market speaking.” Konstantin’s voice is slow, careful. “What happens to other players in the industry...other <em> people</em>...it is not personal, Villanelle. Just business.”</p><p>Villanelle casts a sharp look at him. The slight emphasis on “people” was hard to miss, but he just looks back at her, giving nothing away. </p><p>As always, she’s left wondering just what exactly her uncle does and doesn’t know. He’ll keep his cards close to his chest as he is wont to do, and she is reminded, not for the first time, that though she may have grown this business into the market leader it is today, he is the one who started it. </p><p>It’s just business. </p><p>“Right. Of course. Business.” She forces herself to look at the papers, clearing her throat. It feels tight, all of a sudden. “Let’s get this over with.”</p><p> </p><p>Later, as she is in the car, the driver pulling away from the office building, she pulls out her phone and opens Twitter, staring for the umpteenth time at Eve’s message. It stares back at her, accusing and expectant, the straightforward words devastating in their simplicity.</p><p>But what <em> can </em> she say? Concoct some ridiculous excuse — her office was put in lockdown — her phone <em> and </em>her computer were stolen, yes, they were very thorough — she was kidnapped and has just escaped. (It wouldn’t be the first time she’s woven some absurd story to a woman, and her track record in getting away with it isn’t even that bad. She’s a great storyteller, as it happens.) </p><p>But she cannot do that to Eve. Just the thought of throwing another lie onto the already impressive pile makes her squeeze her eyes shut in dismay. </p><p>She leans back against the seat, eyes still closed. <em> Eve</em>, she thinks, <em> I’m sorry</em>. </p><p>And then she opens them and, after a moment, types:</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> you are probably very upset with me. you have every right to be so. i can’t tell you what happened to me that night. but i beg you to forgive me for not being there.</p><p> </p><p>She stares at this last sentence, and then hits the backspace.</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> you are probably very upset with me. you have every right to be so. i can’t tell you what happened to me that night. but i beg you to forgive me for what happened. </p><p> </p><p>That’s better.</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>you are probably very upset with me. you have every right to be so. i can’t tell you what happened to me that night. but i beg you to forgive me for what happened. i can’t tell you how sorry i am that i caused you pain, and i know for certain that whatever you may or may not have said that night was certainly deserved. you were stressed, and hurt. the fault is mine. someday i’ll explain everything. meanwhile, i’m still here.</p><p> </p><p>She hits send, and then tosses the phone away. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>“So she didn’t say anything else?”</p><p>Eve shakes her head, continuing to scan the inventory checklist for the new book shipment that arrived earlier. </p><p>“No new plans to meet up? An explanation? Like, <em> nothing</em>?”</p><p>She looks up then, frowning. “How many times are we gonna go over this?”</p><p>Hugo exchanges a glance with Elena before they both look back at her as one. A chill runs down Eve’s spine at the sight; Hugo and Elena setting aside their differences and joining forces is <em> never </em>a good thing.</p><p>“Look, Eve, maybe this isn’t so bad,” Elena starts. “Maybe she has a really good reason. It was a pretty serious message.”</p><p>“Well, a bit dramatic, really—” Hugo jerks as if something’s just kicked him. “I mean, yeah, serious.”</p><p>Eve sighs and pushes away the clipboard. “Guys, you really don’t have to do this. It’s fine.”</p><p>“Uh, no, it’s not. She stood you up! We can’t just stand for that!” Elena’s sudden vehemence has a young mother, carrying her baby in a carrier on her back as she approaches the register, backing away just as quickly, books clutched in her hands.</p><p>Eve wistfully watches her go. “Will you please relax? We literally cannot afford to lose customers right now.”</p><p>Hugo leans an elbow on the counter, indifferent to the lost business, focused instead on Eve, clearly intrigued. He’s always enjoyed analyzing her, god help her. “You’re really not pissed at all? I mean, I ghost girls all the time—” Elena rolls her eyes here, “—but this is just harsh. She’s the one who wanted to meet <em> you</em>, I thought.”</p><p>Elena’s silence here, or at least failure to kick Hugo, is telling. Eve sighs again. She’s tired, in more ways than one. “Obviously, I’m not like...happy, but, I don’t know. Maybe she just got spooked. Maybe it <em> was </em>a work thing. At the end of the day, we’re internet friends, you know? Things are different. The boundaries are different. It started like that and I really am okay if it stays like that.”</p><p>Elena and Hugo exchange glances again. Eve really wishes they would stop doing that.</p><p>She <em> is </em>hurt. Obviously. It was painful and embarrassing and, to top it all off, the universe had to send Oksana Astankova in to witness her shame, and then taunt her about being stood up for fifteen straight minutes. </p><p>Eve still can’t replay that conversation without cringing, for so many reasons. She was mad — she’s <em> still </em>mad — at how arrogant and relaxed Oksana was, as if it was just another evening to her, as if she didn’t care at all about what her business was doing to Eve, how she was humiliating Eve in that moment, reading her book aloud and ordering drinks like they were friends. </p><p>But Eve is also embarrassed at herself. She can be rude, can be unpleasant, can be downright obnoxious at times. She knows this, has made her peace with it (probably too easily). She has no problem fighting back, sticking up for herself whenever it’s necessary (and maybe when it’s not). That’s been true all her life. Especially when it’s someone who thinks they’re punching down. </p><p>But she’s not proud of what she said to Oksana. “No one will remember you...If they remember you at all, it will be as nothing but a suit.” God, who even <em> says </em>things like that? She’s had nothing but time to analyze the flash of something that came and went in Oksana’s eyes as she finished speaking. </p><p>It was surprise, and then hurt. </p><p>Eve still feels the hurt of Oksana calling her shop inconsequential. So maybe it’s not surprising that she lashed out as hard as she did. But she’s learning that, far from being restorative, it’s only made her feel worse. </p><p>Even if she’s been known to let her less-gracious side get the better of her, to say unkind things, this is a whole new arena. She’s realized that she doesn’t want to fight with and put down Oksana every time they meet in a futile race to the bottom, doesn’t want that to be who she is. Not with Oksana. </p><p>Because it feels like it’ll really only be her who loses. </p><p>“Well, alright,” Elena says finally. “But we’re here if you want to bitch about her. You certainly have the right.”</p><p>Hugo nods along. “Are you going to talk to her again?”</p><p>“I haven’t decided. Maybe. It’s still a little soon.”</p><p>Elena hums sympathetically as she turns back to the shop computer. “Yeah, of course, there’s no rush. We’ve got enough to deal with as it is, that damn VB store is opening tomorrow, isn’t it?”</p><p>Eve grunts. She’d rather not think about it. Or her increasingly grim financial statements. The sense of an ending is rushing towards her, now, though she has not yet been able to bring herself to break the news to the team. </p><p>“It’s just so bloody obnoxious,” Elena is continuing, mindless to Eve’s increasingly depressed musings at the other end of the counter. “Like, are the flyers and the ads and the free merch really necessary, I don’t think— well, hello.”</p><p>Hugo looks over her shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Well, damn.”</p><p>“Don’t leave me in suspense, kids.”</p><p>Elena looks over. “Maybe this’ll raise your spirits. Someone’s just put in a huge order online for, like, half the true crime department.”</p><p>Eve raises her eyebrows. She finally gave in to Kenny’s cajoling some years back and let him set up a simple online shop for the store, but at her insistence it’s remained straightforward and not terribly flashy. Perhaps even a bit clunky. She’s impressed someone was motivated enough to forge through it to do <em> anything</em>, frankly. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. Like, 600 pounds worth, easy.”</p><p>Hugo whistles. “Someone <em> really </em>likes true crime. Sort of creepy, when you think about it.”</p><p>Eve gets up and joins them at the computer. Elena is right; it’s a huge order for a single person, by any standard. “Where to?”</p><p>Elena clicks a few times. “Ummm, just looks like it’s going to a flat in Kensington, no name given. Someone with money to burn, maybe, given the address.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“Think it’s Villanelle?” Elena turns to look at her with a grin. “Wouldn’t be a bad apology, eh?”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” Eve replies with an eye roll. “She doesn’t even know I own a bookstore, remember?” She rounds the counter and heads for the shelves, set to check the new inventory, and turns her head to call, “Now can you two do your jobs?”</p><p>“Only if you tell us when you and Villanelle talk again!” Hugo calls back, shameless. </p><p>Eve snorts. “Don’t hold your breath!”</p><p>She heads into the shelves, smiling. Obviously it wasn’t Villanelle; that’s impossible.</p><p>Doesn’t mean it’s not nice to think about, though.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> I’m still pretty pissed at you. But I also miss talking to you. Funny how that works, huh?</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> i understand. and i am really sorry. i meant everything i said earlier</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> you don’t owe me anything. we can talk as much or as little as you want, about anything</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> and i’ve really missed you, too.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>The next day, Villanelle Books triumphantly opens. Even if Eve and the team didn’t already know about it from the plentiful marketing and nervous industry chatter, it would be painfully apparent from the line stretching around the corner, hordes of customers flocking to take advantage of the many deals the giant retailer has promised for its opening day. </p><p>“I heard they’re giving away <em> iPads</em>,” Elena says. “Bit ironic for, you know, a bookstore, but still…iPads!”</p><p>“...I can’t tell if you’re disgusted or impressed,” Kenny replies. </p><p>“Bit of both, I think.”</p><p>“I was going to go by on my break and try to snag one,” Hugo cuts in. </p><p>They both turn to look at him, and Kenny heaves a deep sign as Elena’s eyes start to narrow. </p><p>Death matches between Hugo and Elena aside, it’s hard to deny the almost immediately apparent effect the newly opened store has on Murder by the Book. Villanelle Books can, and does, offer titles at cheaper prices than MBB could ever afford to, and though it is not meant to be a specialty themed store like MBB that doesn’t really help matters. </p><p>Traffic to Murder by the Book begins to dwindle; inventory remains on the shelves for longer. Profits fall. Considering none of those metrics are particularly impressive as it is, it’s fairly devastating.</p><p>Eve’s regulars notice the downturn — how can they not — and do what they can to rally, buying as much as they can and sending in friends and family to do the same. Bill comes by with some of his Manderley Press colleagues and they buy about twenty books between them; she can’t deny how touched she is by the show of support from her friend, and if she tears up as he hugs her tight before taking his leave, neither of them mention it.</p><p>But as the days turn into weeks, an unavoidable truth emerges: she cannot afford to keep Murder by the Book open. The numbers going out and numbers going in paint a very simple picture — between the monthly rent and store insurance, cost of inventory, payroll, and utilities, versus her actual profit, it just isn’t sustainable anymore. The only way it <em> might </em>even be possible is if she were to cut her staff, but thought of firing any of her team makes the ache in her chest even stronger and she decides she can’t do it. It would be a short-term bandaid, anyway; one less paycheck to sign would not solve the store’s much deeper issues.</p><p>She dwells on this realization for days. Elena, Kenny, and Hugo all seem to notice her slump, and circle the wagons around her as they did last time, Hugo once more providing her with fresh coffee every morning and all of them treating her with kid gloves. But there is a certain awareness about them this time that wasn’t there previously. They know it, too. They’re just waiting for her to tell them.</p><p>It’s a blustery October Tuesday the day she breaks the news. Murder by the Book’s last day of business will be the following Friday. </p><p>They are all sad, of course. But it’s not like it comes as a surprise. </p><p>Eve knows they’ll all land on their feet. Elena, Kenny, and Hugo are all quite intelligent, with diverse strengths and skill sets, and she’s looking forward to seeing what they’ll do next; frankly she’s always thought, just to herself, that their loyalty to her and the store, and affection for each other — yes, even Elena and Hugo — have kept them here already longer than it perhaps should’ve. </p><p>The next few days are a surreal, chaotic blur, as they hold a firesale to offload as much inventory as they can, packing up things, making arrangements to sell other portions of inventory to other booksellers, sorting through the piles of bookkeeping that have built up in the back room over the years. She thinks, in a jarring moment, that she sees Oksana, of all people, standing outside the store one day as she tapes up boxes, her distinctive loud suit catching Eve’s eye through the large window. But before she can inspect further, Oksana — if it <em> was </em>Oksana — is gone, Eve just catching a flash of blonde hair. She has to stamp down the urge to run to the door and see her for herself. What does it matter? It doesn’t. Villanelle Books has won, and she has nothing more to say to her. </p><p>(And if, one day after work, she walks through Villanelle Books — definitely <em> not </em>to try and catch a glimpse of Oksana, no way — and takes in the shelves and shelves of books in myriad genres, the comfortable seating and desks, the inviting cafe, and finds that she doesn’t hate it, that it’s not nearly as corporate and soulless as she assumed it would be, as if someone’s personal touch and attention has been given to every aspect — well, no point in thinking about that either.)</p><p>Another massive online order comes in, this time for thrillers; though Elena is intrigued all over again — Eve has to dissuade her from making the delivery personally — Eve finds that she doesn’t feel much of anything. </p><p>She is in the process of packing up her life’s greatest effort, thus far. Her emotions have been turned off; it’s so much easier to be numb.</p><p>The following Thursday evening, the night before Murder by the Book’s final day, the team throws a farewell party for the store. Bill and Keiko come, their baby girl in tow, and many of the Manderley team that Eve has come to know over the years; also stopping by are scores of well wishers from other local imprints, her regular customers, Jamie and a few others in the indie book business — this time <em> really </em>looking like they’re attending a wake, and she supposes it’s at least appropriate this time — and a few local crime authors and agents who have often used the bookshop as a stop while on book tours. Even Niko turns up, genuinely regretful about the closing of the store he knows means so much to her.</p><p>It’s bittersweet to see all of them. Sweet, at the gesture of support. Bitter, because despite it all her store is still closing. </p><p>Murder by the Book’s final day of operation is a busy one, the news of the store’s closing clearly having spread. She sells a fuckton of books, accepts the best wishes and condolences of a seemingly endless stream of people, sneaks out the back to smoke no less than four times, and generally tries not to lose her shit.</p><p>A massive bouquet of white roses comes for her late in the day, the card unsigned. She puts it off to the side.</p><p>It’s such a frenetic, draining day, that when 6pm comes, she has no capacity for any emotion beyond a sort of dull relief. </p><p>That’s it, then. Her bookstore is officially out of business. </p><p>The team takes their time gathering their things and looking around the store before leaving; Elena and Hugo tried to coax her into going to the pub with them and getting very, very drunk, but Eve finds that she really just wants to be alone. They all hug her as they depart, Elena, clearly worried; Hugo, uncharacteristically serious; Kenny, entirely characteristically forlorn. </p><p>She waves them all off. They’ll be fine. </p><p>Once she’s alone, Eve takes the time to do one last walk around the store. How many times has she woven this path through the shelves? Making sure the books are neatly lined up, displays are attractive, that no jackass under the misconception that they’re funny has hidden scores of the goriest slashers throughout the children’s section. </p><p>It seems everything has an ending, whether you realize it or not. How many times does someone do something, without knowing that, one day, they’ll never do that thing again? That their final time doing it, <em> is </em>their final time? </p><p>She stands in the middle of the store. The shelves are empty. The displays have been binned. Most of the squashy leather armchairs are gone, or will be by this weekend. She can feel it, already. The spirit of the store, whatever animated it and made it a living place, has left. </p><p>So, after a final look around, she hits the light switches, and then she leaves too. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> People are always telling you that change is a good thing, have you noticed that? But all they’re really saying is that something you didn’t want to happen at all, has happened. </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>My store closed today. I own a store — I guess I never told you that. Owned. And next week it’ll be something horrible, or banal, or both, like a Pret or a Ladbrokes.</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Change is inevitable. I know that. London will always keep changing, and my store is just a part of that. But I can’t deny how sad it makes me. Something I poured my life into didn’t work out. And I’ll get over it, eventually. There are other things I can do. But for now, I’m just really, really fucking sad</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> i’m so sorry. i wish i could make things right</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Don’t be. You have nothing to do with it. I’m just glad we can talk</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Eight days after her store has closed, Eve awakens to the shrill sound of the buzzer to her flat. In her half unconscious, half hungover, fully down-with-a-bad-cold state, it is perhaps the worst thing that has ever happened to her. </p><p>Plugging her ears, she stumbles out of bed and to the door, cursing as the noise, far from stopping, just grows more shrill. It’s like an ice pick to the head. Her stomach roils.</p><p>She finally reaches the intercom and jabs the button. “Jesus Christ, <em> what</em>?”</p><p>There is a pause. And then, the last voice she ever expected to hear comes through the speaker, its distinctive, accented tones somehow both warming and chilling her simultaneously. </p><p>“Hi, Eve.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the call...is coming from INSIDE the house</p><p>thanks for reading. as you can see i had to rejigger the outline, so we got one more chapter left w these idiots </p><p>@lightfighterfic bird app</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hi, Eve.”</p><p>Eve stares at the intercom for a full five seconds. This has to be a bad dream; she is still in bed, dead to the world. Has to be. Or maybe it’s a hallucination brought on by too much NyQuil. She’s definitely still asleep, because there is truly no way that voice just came through the speaker, it’s just not—</p><p>“It’s me.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Putting at the note at the top this time, in the hopes of heading off angst and confusion, to say that this is *not* the final chapter, I once more have had to confront my outline. There will be one more!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hi, Eve.”</p><p>Eve stares at the intercom for a full five seconds. This has to be a bad dream; she is still in bed, dead to the world. <em> Has </em>to be. Or maybe it’s a hallucination brought on by too much NyQuil. She’s definitely still asleep, because there is truly no way that voice just came through the speaker, it’s just not—</p><p>“It’s me.”</p><p>She jumps, which is ridiculous, but considering she’s just finished convincing herself none of this is happening, the sound is that much more of an unpleasant surprise.</p><p>Eve wishes she could say the same for the voice itself. Oksana’s already low voice, made raspier by the intercom, sounds good. She instantly wants to smack herself for the thought. </p><p>“Eve, are you going to say something?”</p><p>“I…” Eve swallows and tips her head forward to rest against the intercom. Her head hurts. She feels like shit. She doesn’t have the energy to spar. “What are you <em> doing </em>here?”</p><p>“I was in the neighborhood.”</p><p>Eve pulls away to stare at the intercom. Oksana’s voice is impressively matter-of-fact, which is all the more grating given how bald faced the lie is. “Bullshit.”</p><p>There is a pause, and then, to Eve’s surprise, a low chuckle comes through. “Yeah. I heard you were sick. I wanted to see you.”</p><p>“So you...came to my flat? How do you even know where I <em> live</em>?”</p><p>“I am resourceful.”</p><p>“Oksana.”</p><p>Oksana sighs, the sound crackling through the speaker. “I got it from your friend, that man from Manderley Press. Bill.”</p><p>“<em>Bill?</em>!” Eve honestly does not know what’s happening.</p><p>“Yes, Manderley met with us yesterday.” Oksana pauses, and then adds, in what is dangerously close to a whine — and isn’t <em> that </em>just incredible, given the circumstances — “Will you buzz me up now, please?”</p><p>Eve has to laugh. Absurd. This is <em> absurd</em>. Frankly, she’s still not convinced this isn’t a very vivid fever dream. There is literally no rational explanation for Oksana’s presence. At her <em> home</em>. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand why you’re here, but this really isn’t a great time, okay? I’m exhausted, I have a cold, I feel like shit and my entire flat is probably a biohazard.” </p><p>She glances around and winces. It’s grim. “Make that definitely a biohazard. And frankly, I don’t know that I would want to let you up anyway — surely you have to acknowledge this is kind of strange. The last time we saw each other you were harassing me at a cafe, remember? And also, now that I think about it, I have no idea why <em> Bill </em>, of all people, would give you my address?”</p><p>Eve pauses here and waits for a reply. There is silence on the other end. She frowns. Oksana is many things but short on words is not one of them. “Oksana?”</p><p>Still nothing. “Hello?”</p><p>A loud knock next to her head has her jumping again, this time with the added fun of an undignified yelp, and she slumps against the wall, heart racing. The knock comes again, and Eve stares at the door, first in disbelief, then in rising anger. What the <em> fuck </em> is this woman’s problem? She looks around the place — normally would make some attempt to clear the worst of the used tissues and blankets and dirty dishes and scattered wine glasses, but <em> fuck </em>Oksana — and stomps to the door, yanking it open with a snarl. </p><p>Oksana barely pulls back in time to keep from knocking her fist against Eve’s face. She looks Eve up and down — and she has the audacity to look as perfect as ever, this time in a more relaxed getup than her usual suits, braids and a green bomber jacket, but still an embarrassing contrast to Eve’s rumpled t-shirt and pajama shorts — and smiles. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” </p><p>This innocuous greeting just about has Eve launching into space. She barely, <em> barely</em>, keeps from actually tackling Oksana there in the tiny hallway outside her flat. Her patience — not to mention general goodwill towards society — have withered in the last few weeks. Only her aching body and unrelenting headache keep her from actually acting on the impulse. “What. Are. You. Doing here.”</p><p>Oksana's eyes go wide, the very picture of innocence. “I heard you are unwell, Eve. I wanted to see how you are doing.” She lifts a paper bag. “I brought supplies!”</p><p>Eve blows out a long, grounding breath, shoving down the most homicidal of her anger. Glares anew. “And how did you get to my door?”</p><p>Oksana shrugs. “I followed a man in, of course. He did not seem to have a problem with it—” </p><p>As if anyone would have a problem with <em> you</em>, Eve thinks bitterly. </p><p>“—So here I am,” Oksana continues, “No offense, but you were talking a lot and I thought it would be better if we were face to face.”</p><p>“Better for <em> who</em>, exactly?”</p><p>Oksana blinks. “Well, for both of us, of course.” She smiles, a bit hopefully.</p><p>Eve stares at her. As usual, she is left confused by just what exactly the woman before her is <em> really </em>thinking, what she is really trying to do. What she wants, both generally and with Eve. </p><p>For someone who is allegedly simple and easy to understand — straightforward businessperson, all no-nonsense, malice-free competition — Oksana is quite baffling. Eve <em> still </em>doesn’t understand why she keeps reappearing, not unlike a rash or unwanted admirer.</p><p>Actually, this is the most mixed signals she’s gotten from <em> anyone </em>she isn’t actively dating. </p><p>But still. None of this changes the immediate fact that Eve is sick, sore, and deeply tired, in more ways than one. The woman before her is the same who is responsible — indirectly, directly, semantics — for the closure of her life’s work. And is also the same woman who Eve finds herself thinking about, more often than she’d like and at the most inopportune times. </p><p>It’s a lot. </p><p>And so she just sighs. “Look...I don’t know what we even have to say to each other. It’s over, okay? You won, or whatever. I’m out of business. I’ll probably go work for Manderley. You don’t need to do...whatever this is.”</p><p>Oksana pauses, and just looks at her, a strange expression settling over her face that Eve has not yet seen. She looks...sad. There is more to it than just that, but sadness is what Eve sees first and most prominently. “I...I did not want to <em> win</em>, Eve. Not how you are saying it. I do not think of any of what happened as a victory.” </p><p>Eve stares at her, before chuckling abruptly, the sound more than a little bitter. “I guess that doesn’t really change the outcome, though, does it?”</p><p>Oksana flinches. “No. I guess not.”</p><p>Eve looks at her for a moment more before nodding, her throat suddenly tight. “Well then. I think we’ve said all we need to each other—” </p><p>She steps back and makes to close the door — and Oksana lurches forward and grabs the edge of the door, her knuckles white. “Eve, wait. Please.”</p><p>Eve pauses, taken aback. There is a new light in Oksana’s eyes, almost of...desperation, Eve would call it? If that thought wasn’t laughable. </p><p>Oksana tilts her head beseechingly, not letting up her white-knuckled grip on the door. “Just for a few minutes. And then, if you still want, I will go, and not bother you again.” She tries to smile, though it falls a little flat. “Please?”</p><p>They stare at each other, Oksana tightly coiled, energy barely bottled up in her long frame, Eve hesitant and more than a little confused. <em> Why </em>does Oksana care so much? Whatever attraction was between them, in that first meeting, surely doesn’t warrant...whatever all this is.</p><p>Well...whatever. She can’t deny the infuriatingly prominent place the woman has occupied in her thoughts. And if she cares enough to come to Eve’s flat, with a promise to leave forever after to boot, then what the hell. She opens her mouth — and Oksana cringes, holding herself as if expecting a blow. “Alright, god, fine.”</p><p>Oksana’s eyes widen, and then she abruptly sags, as if in relief. Was she not expecting Eve to give in? </p><p>Regardless, she lets go of the door, smiling — a real smile, this time — and Eve steps back again, ushering her in with a dramatic, if sarcastic, outstretched arm. “Come in, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve watches as she takes in the flat after putting the bag down in the kitchen, hands shoved in the pockets of her bomber as she walks here and there, examines the many crammed bookshelves and scattered framed photos. “Nice place, Eve.” She diplomatically leaves out any mention of the garbage tornado that has apparently swept through the entirety of the living room.</p><p>(Thank god there is literally no chance of her ever seeing the inside of Eve’s bedroom, which is, if possible, in an even greater state of disarray. Eve’s pretty sure there’s an empty chip bag somewhere inside her duvet.)</p><p>Eve tries not to snort as Oksana gingerly steps over a pile of used tissues. “Thanks.” Seeing that Oksana’s survey of the room does not appear close to over — she is either very thorough, very nosy, very curious, or all three — she collapses onto the sofa, stretching her legs out onto the coffee table (avoiding old wine glasses in the process) and watching as Oksana pauses at a shelf and pulls out a book, staring at the cover. </p><p>It’s <em> Gone Girl</em>. Just seeing the cover is enough to revive some of the embarrassment and irritation Eve felt that night in the cafe, but the intensity of those feelings have faded, trapped as they are under the heap of all the other emotions she’s had since then. “Neither of us can escape it, huh?”</p><p>Oksana stiffens, as if she’s forgotten Eve is there, and looks up. Eve blinks at the distinct look of misery in her eyes, the downturn of her lips, before she’s blinking and it’s gone, her lips pushing up into an approximation of a smile. “No, I guess not.”</p><p>But Eve is onto her, now. Something is clearly wrong (that is, aside from...everything else between them). She opens her mouth to ask...<em> something</em>, but instead what comes out is a massive, inelegant sneeze. And then several more. After, she slumps into the cushions in defeat. Being sick <em> sucks</em>. </p><p>“Oh, right!” Oksana shakes her head, stuffing the book back into the shelf, before scampering over to the kitchen and presumably the bag she brought with her. “Do not worry, Eve, I brought supplies!”</p><p>Eve attempts an approximation of an acknowledgement. It comes out more like a groan.</p><p>Then there are clattering noises emanating from the kitchen, some of which are vaguely alarming, but the initial adrenalin rush accompanying Oksana’s surprise arrival has faded and Eve truly does not have the energy to investigate. Oksana can have free rein in there, for all she cares; hell, maybe she’ll do some dishes while she’s at it.</p><p>(Not that Eve thinks that Oksana has ever done a dish in her life, but musing on that provokes more irritation than she is capable of entertaining at the moment so she gives it up in favor of thinking of nothing at all.</p><p>...It’s surprisingly peaceful. She should do this more often.)</p><p>“Eeeeve.” </p><p>She opens her eyes at the drawn out sound of her name, and blinks. Oksana is standing before her, carrying a tray. (Eve owns a tray?)</p><p>Oksana grins and hefts the tray. “Food!”</p><p>She places the tray on the coffee table, and Eve stares at the bowl of what appears to be chicken noodle soup there, along with a glass of orange juice, before looking back up at Oksana. </p><p>Oksana smiles, that same hopeful smile from earlier, and gestures at the food. “Eat! These are good for a cold, right?”</p><p>Eve pauses. “Uh...yes? Why do you sound so unsure?”</p><p>Oksana shrugs. “I am not used to taking care of peo— of sick people.” She clears her throat. “But I wanted to bring you things, so...here.” Another bright smile. “Eat!”</p><p>Eve frowns at her before picking up the steaming bowl of soup, a bit doubtful. It smells pleasant, though, and happily doesn’t roil her already delicate stomach, so she takes a cautious bite. Her eyebrows raise. “This is good. Really good, actually. Did you make this?”</p><p>Oksana opens her mouth, and then closes it. She looks frustrated. </p><p>Eve quirks a brow. </p><p>Oksana sighs. “Uh...no, I didn’t. I looked up reviews to find the best soup place in the area.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, thanks?” Eve pauses. “So...why the hesitation?”</p><p>Oksana looks off to the side. Eve waits. </p><p>Finally, Oksana blows out an annoyed breath, sinking into the armchair opposite Eve and glaring down at her knees. “I was going to lie and say I made it. But then I didn’t. Because…” She meets Eve’s eyes. “I am trying to be more honest with you. I am not very good at it.” She tilts her head consideringly. “Actually, sometimes I think I don’t really even understand the concept, but, whatever.”</p><p>There is a pause. </p><p>“Uh...okay?” Frankly, she’s not really sure what else to say. Whatever it was she expected, it certainly wasn’t for Oksana to come and admit that she’s been dishonest about...well, <em> anything</em>. Where is this crisis of conscience coming from? Where is <em> any </em>of this coming from?</p><p>So she cuts to the chase. “Oksana, why are you here? And not just that you were in the neighborhood or because I’m sick. Really.”</p><p>Oksana looks down, grips the material of her pants at her knees. “I came...to apologize. I was horrible to you, the other night. I made you feel terrible, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>Eve becomes aware that she is gaping, ever so slightly, and closes her mouth. She suddenly wonders all over again if this really isn’t some sort of fever dream. Oksana Astankova, in her flat, bringing her soup, <em> apologizing?</em> She’d almost suspect some sort of plot here, some more nefarious game afoot, if it weren’t for the fact that Villanelle Books has already won, and frankly, for how wretched Oksana sounds. </p><p>Whatever is happening, Eve finds, despite herself, that she believes Oksana to be sincere. </p><p>Huh. Miracles do happen. </p><p>It’s this thought that has her clearing her throat and saying, “Yeah, well. I wasn’t that great either. I shouldn’t have said that thing about...you know…”</p><p>Oksana looks up. “Me being nothing but a suit?”</p><p>Eve winces. “Yeah. That. That was shitty of me.”</p><p>Oksana shrugs, but doesn’t dispute it. Eve looks at her, and wonders for the millionth time why she can’t bring herself to hate her, not really. Even at her lowest, it was never hate. And even now, despite objectively being the more injured party, Eve looks at her, her downturned face and sad, wide eyes, and just feels <em> bad </em>, period. </p><p>She doesn’t know if this is a commentary on how sympathetic or compelling she apparently finds Oksana to be, or really just one on how she is the world’s biggest, most pathetic sucker, but...Oksana had no reason to come here. And yet, here she is.</p><p>“It wasn’t all about you,” Eve says. “I was upset, even before you came. Getting stood up is humiliating, it turns out.”</p><p>Oksana flits a glance at her, something coming and going in her gaze, before just nodding. “I understand.”</p><p>She leans back into the armchair, still looking tense. Eve watches her warily. “So was that it, or…”</p><p>“No!” Oksana squeezes her eyes shut for a second, as if trying to recenter herself, before looking at Eve. “No. I mean, yes, I did want to apologize for that, but…” </p><p>Eve waits. This is easily the most patience she’s exercised with the woman opposite in any of their interactions so far. </p><p>Oksana scowls, more at herself than anything. “It’s not all I wanted to apologize for.”</p><p>Eve’s eyebrows shoot up. Okay, this she was <em> not </em>expecting. </p><p>“You...you have every right to hate me. I put you out of business, a business you loved. And I can’t change that. But I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For all of it. I didn’t even know your shop was in the area until that first day I came in, I swear. And once I did find out...it was too late to change things. So much went into our store. It was not just about me.” Oksana wrings her hands, radiating anxiety. “It...it wasn’t personal, you know? It was just business.”</p><p>It is this last sentence that spurs Eve to speech, the words and all the ones preceding sinking into her and hitting her somewhere in her chest. “Why do people always say that? What is that supposed to mean? Just because it was business for you, doesn’t mean it wasn’t personal to <em> me</em>. And what is so wrong with being <em> personal</em>, anyway?”</p><p>Oksana is taken aback, Eve can see. She starts to say something, stops. “I...nothing.” She is sagging in her seat. There is an air of defeat about her. “I just...I just wish I could make things right.”</p><p>Eve pauses. She knows she’s recently heard that same phrase, or read it somewhere, but her head is just getting fuzzier...“What did you just say?”</p><p>“Uh...that I want to make things right?”</p><p>“Hmm.” Eve leans back into the sofa, rubbing her forehead. She can’t remember where she last heard it, but she <em> definitely </em>did. “You can’t give me my shop back. I wouldn’t take it from you even if you could.”</p><p>“I know.” Oksana is shrinking into her chair.</p><p>“But...I don’t hate you, for what it’s worth.”</p><p>Oksana looks sharply at her. “But you don’t forgive me.” </p><p>Eve laughs tiredly. “Are you surprised that I can hold a grudge?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Is that what you want from me? Forgiveness?”</p><p>Oksana looks down. “No. I...I wanted to be your friend. That is why I came.” She chuckles, the sound bitter. “But I guess this is just me wanting another thing I can’t have.”</p><p>“My friend?” Eve can hear her surprise in her voice.</p><p>“Yes. Is that so unexpected? I like you, Eve.”</p><p>“...Oh.” </p><p>They look at each other: Eve, somewhat nonplussed, still a bit sore from all that has been said thus far; Oksana, looking even more tortured than before, if that was possible. </p><p>“Well,” Eve replies after a moment, “I mean...I think about you a lot. But most of it is pretty mean.”</p><p>This jolts Oksana into an unexpected laugh. “Yes. Well. I can’t hold that against you, I suppose.”</p><p>“Yeah, no.”</p><p>They subside into silence for a moment, Eve beginning to feel self-conscious at the way Oksana openly inspects her. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> now </em>you’re asking?” </p><p>Oksana lifts a shoulder, conceding the point, and Eve finds that she is...amused. Almost enjoying herself? Which is insane, obviously, but this conversation left “normal” in the rearview mirror a long time ago and is now footed firmly in the surreal. Her all-consuming need to punch Oksana in the solar plexus from fifteen minutes ago has faded, anyway. “Sure. Why not.”</p><p>“What happened to the person you were meeting? That night, at the cafe.”</p><p>Eve studies her for a second before just shrugging. “Nothing. She never showed.”</p><p>Oksana’s brows raise. “Wow. Really? But...you still care for her, yes?”</p><p>“Uh…” Where on earth is Oksana going with this? But the question is a good one, if only because it’s something Eve has been dwelling on herself, when not thinking about Oksana. “I mean, yeah.”</p><p>Oksana seems to lighten, almost, something clearing in her face. “Well, why don’t you go find her, ask her what happened? You two could run away together.” She does a little shimmy as she says this.</p><p>“She…” Eve has to laugh. Absurd. This is <em> absurd</em>. “I don’t actually know her, okay? We met online.”</p><p>“Online?” Oksana tilts her head. “What, like on Tinder?”</p><p>“No! No, uh...Twitter.”</p><p>Oksana laughs. “Twitter! That is very inventive, Eve, I am impressed.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>“No, I’m serious, I kind of love that, actually. It’s very...you.” Oksana smiles. “I use Twitter too — small world, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe we have crossed paths.”</p><p>Eve snorts. “Right.” </p><p>“You never know. But, you know, I think...you should try to meet her again. If you wanted. It sounds like you two really have a connection.”</p><p>“Are you really giving me romance advice right now?”</p><p>Oksana shrugs lightly. “It is an area of expertise of mine, as it happens.”</p><p>Eve just laughs, shaking her head. She leans forward and grabs an only partially used tissue off the table — Oksana, to her credit, says nothing, nose wrinkling only slightly — and swipes at her running nose. The damn thing is like a faucet. “I’ll think about it. But anyway, my head feels like it’s in a vise, so I’m about to take some Nyquil and go back to sleep, if we’re done here…?”</p><p>Oksana nods quickly. “Oh! Yes, of course, you should lay down. Um, I also brought some tea, and Emergen-C and zinc, they’re in the kitchen. I read those are good to take. And hand sanitizer.” She takes a look around. “Lots of hand sanitizer.” </p><p>Eve can’t help but smile. “Thanks.”</p><p>She leans forward to toss the tissue back onto the table — and freezes as Oksana leans in as well, slowly extending her hand. Eve can only watch as she lightly grasps Eve’s hand, tissue and all. “You are angry. I understand that. I cannot ask for your forgiveness, I will not. But just...think about what I said, okay?”</p><p>Eve stares. Oksana’s hand is soft around hers. The air around them feels thick and charged, and not just because Eve’s sinuses are blocked. </p><p>Oksana looks back for a frozen moment before clearing her throat, letting go of Eve’s hand and jumping to her feet. “But you should rest. Finish the soup!” </p><p>Eve can only nod. </p><p>Oksana smiles at her, tremulous and a little awkward, before nodding abruptly. “I’ll see myself out. Rest well, Eve.”</p><p>And then she is heading for the door. Eve is forcibly reminded of the last time she watched Oksana head for an exit, but this time, her feelings are decidedly different. </p><p>Ugh, she really does not have the emotional capacity for this right now. </p><p>She finishes the soup — it <em> is </em>really good — and goes back to sleep. </p><p>When she wakes up again, later, feeling somewhat more human, she decides to inspect the rest of what Oksana brought (and notices, in the second miracle of the day, that the other woman <em> did </em>do the dishes. Eve should buy a lottery ticket at this point). </p><p>As reported, there is the tea and the supplements — not to mention the hand sanitizer — but also tissues and several bars of Cadbury Dairy Milk, which Eve has always been partial to and usually had a half-eaten bar of sitting next to the register in her shop. </p><p>Her throat feels tight. </p><p>She reaches into the bag and pulls out the topmost bar — and pauses. There is a Post-It on the back. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Feel better soon. You can call me sometime, if you like, to yell at me some more, or anything else. —Oksana </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There is a number scribbled below it. </p><p>Eve unfolds the wrapping around the chocolate bar, and takes a bite. She thinks. </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> hope you are feeling a bit better?</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Yeah, I am, thanks. Someone I know brought me some supplies which helped. </p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> i’m glad to hear it. sounds like a nice friend.</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> No. Yes? I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated</p><p><b>@true_crime77</b>: But anyway. I was thinking, next time you’re in London. We should try again</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright</b>: i would like that very much. i’m in the middle of a slightly delicate project at the moment, one that needs my hands-on management, but will let you know when i’m next coming into town</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Perfect</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>A few days after Oksana’s unexpected visit, Eve starts her new job at Manderley Press. Bill is, unsurprisingly, over the moon. (And did, in fact, ruefully admit to being Oksana’s source, much to Eve’s disbelief — “She can be bloody scary when she wants, and <em> very </em> insistent. I didn’t actually think she would <em> do </em>anything with it!”)</p><p>And in fairness, the team is welcoming, the work interesting and indeed well-suited to Eve’s strengths. She’s familiar with the process, this many years in the industry, and were it not for her shop likely would have seriously considered publishing as a career much earlier on. She thinks she’ll be happy here, with time.</p><p>But she’s distracted. There’s a lot to think about. </p><p>And her thoughts don’t subside, even when she tries to shove them out. Thinking just seems to generate even more thoughts, like some sort of particularly annoying hydra. Funny how that works. </p><p>Finally, she gives in. Was she always going to do this? Can she really just not let things lie? </p><p>....Does it matter? </p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park] </b>So I have a direct line to yell at you whenever I want?</p><p><b>[Unknown Number] </b>i may end up regretting this, but yes, that’s what i said.</p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> Perfect </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>damn eve how many ppl r u gonna text??</p><p>pls note this story takes place in an au where the only thing eve has is the common cold and villanelle is fine ty</p><p>thanks for reading!</p><p>yell at me, if you like, @lightfighterfic on twitter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So they’ve hung out a few times. Big deal. Getting coffee in a cafe, or going for a walk when they both happen to be free and in the same area — who cares! Eve has the time and was going to get coffee anyway, or for a walk, and Oksana is fun to shoot the shit with, whatever. </p><p>It’s fine. Eve is fine!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>[Oksana Astankova]</b> hi eve. what drink did you get at cafe helene’s again? i’m there again and i want to get it </p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park] </b>Hey. I got the matcha latte, extra foam. Medium sweetness</p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> Should I be pleased that you liked it enough to go back again or offended you’re not getting me anything?</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana] </b>pleased!! wow eve, you should know that i take my food and drink very seriously. so me asking you is high praise 💯 </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> also you know you only need ask, i am always happy to buy you coffee</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Right. I’m so honored, I hardly know what to do with myself 🙄</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> as you should be 😎</p><p><b>[Oksana] </b>but i must also say this is all very strange because i had you pegged as a black coffee kind of person ☕☕</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve] </b>What is that supposed to mean?!</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana] </b>oh, you know, straightforward, eye on the prize, no time for silly drinks, blah blah blah</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> ...it’s a good thing. a woman who knows what she wants, etc</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Ha. Because that’s going so well. But yes, I usually am, but their matcha latte is really good — they have a bunch of other good espresso drinks too</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana] </b>ok, i’ll get the latte then, ty 🙏</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> as for the other drinks, maybe you can give me a walkthrough sometime</p><p> </p><p>“Eve, you’ve been smiling at your phone for about two minutes straight. It’s getting a tad unnerving.”</p><p>“Oh, leave her alone, Bill. She’s talking to her mysterious Twitter friend.”</p><p>A pause. “She is, right?”</p><p>The resulting silence finally has Eve dragging her eyes up from the phone, in time to see Bill finishing make an expression no doubt intended to convey something of significance to Elena, who is, in turn, arching a brow at him. “Bill, can you not?”</p><p>He raises his hands in surrender. “Look, you know I support you pretty much no matter what, but I have to say the current turn of events has even me a bit lost.”</p><p>Eve rolls her eyes, dropping her phone onto the table with one hand and stuffing the rest of her croissant into her mouth with the other. “It’s not that big of a deal.” This comes out a bit muffled through the pastry.</p><p>He gives her a skeptical look, and Elena cuts in — never one to be kept out of the loop for long. “Sorry, <em> what </em>turn of events?”</p><p>Eve glares daggers at Bill — he suddenly becomes very interested in his coffee — before looking to Elena, who raises her eyebrows expectantly. “It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“Well, the more you say it’s <em> not </em>a big deal, the more interested I become.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah...well...basically...so what’s happening is...”</p><p>“—She’s talking to Oksana Astankova. And meeting up with her. In <em> person</em>.” The words seem to burst out of Bill, perhaps no longer able to take Eve’s prevaricating, and he quickly resumes his close study of his mug after they’re out, this time no doubt to avoid Eve’s death glare.</p><p>Elena stares, incredulous, first at Bill, then at Eve when a denial fails to arrive. Her mouth opens, closes. Eve tries not to fidget under the intense inspection, suddenly missing her croissant and the convenient occupation it provided. “...Eve?”</p><p>Eve clears her throat. Looks around for a waiter. Will <em> someone </em>please give her another croissant, for god’s sake? She needs another croissant. Anything to avoid looking at Elena.</p><p>But it is too late. Elena seems to have found some grain of truth in Bill’s words in Eve’s face, enough to push her brows slowly upward for the third time in as many minutes. “Eve.”</p><p>Eve gives up her futile search in favor of covering her face with her hands, letting out an unattractive, slightly muffled, groan. </p><p>It does nothing to block out Elena’s scandalized, if somewhat delighted, gasp. “Oksana Astankova? <em> Villanelle Books </em> Oksana? That is…so weird.”</p><p>Bill lets out a choked, quickly cut off laugh. </p><p>“I mean,” Elena continues, growing thoughtful, “She’s quite hot—” </p><p>“Elena!” Eve drops her hands, feeling her face grow warm.</p><p>“What? No point denying it, the woman is hot as hell and dresses chic as shit. That’s hardly news. But there’s also the whole, you know, responsible for putting you out of business thing, so…”</p><p>“She…” Eve clears her throat, perfectly aware of how her next words will land. “She apologized for that.”</p><p>This time, both Bill and Elena stare at her. Eve tries not to shrink in her seat.</p><p>“She apologized.” Elena’s voice is flat.</p><p>Eve cringes. “Um...yes.”</p><p>“<em>Eve</em>.”</p><p>This third utterance of her name, though, finally has Eve shaking her head impatiently, both in irritation at them and herself. “Look, I get that this is weird as hell, I <em> really </em> do, but you know what? She <em> did </em> apologize, and I even think she meant it. And it turns out that she’s funny, and not always a dick, and I like spending time with her every now and then, as <em> friends </em>. And maybe you two think that this is a bad idea, or that, I don’t know, I’m not entirely stable at the moment, but this is one non-shitty thing that I have right now, and for me, that’s enough. Okay?” </p><p>She stops there, aware that she is breathing a bit hard. Elena and Bill stare back at her, eyes wide, Elena still clutching her waffle-laden fork, hovering forgotten above her plate.</p><p>As the pause stretches out, Eve’s words play back in her head, and the realization that her reaction may have a bit more than the situation called for sinks in. She tips her head into her hands. “Oh, god.” (Projecting? Her? Never.)</p><p>“Hey, no, Eve, it’s okay, really,” Elena rushes in, reaching out to clasp a comforting hand on Eve’s forearm. “Look, neither of us are judging you, swear to god. We just know that this has been a really stressful and transformative few months for you and just, um, want to make sure you’re doing okay and not seeking out things that might...hurt you.”</p><p>Bill makes a noise of assent.</p><p>Eve exhales into her hands before looking back up at them, softening a bit at the sincere concern in their eyes. “I get that. And I understand where you’re coming from, seriously. I haven’t forgotten her role in everything — like I could. But I think...she’s trying to make amends? Sort of?”</p><p>“Is that something you want?”</p><p>She looks at Bill, who just steadily looks back, waiting for her to answer his (very reasonable) question. Ugh, what a dick. But she sighs and forces herself to consider. “I mean...I guess? I’m trying not to overthink things. We just sort of...bump into each other every now and then. In a planned sort of way.”</p><p>Bill’s brows furrow in pure consternation. “What?”</p><p>Elena rolls her eyes. “She means they’re hanging out sometimes, Bill, but it’s very casual and not a big deal.”</p><p>Eve nods. </p><p>He peers at her, before saying, very carefully, “That’s all well and good, and totally up to your discretion, but…” He pauses. “Aren’t you, you know...mad at her?”</p><p>Eve opens her mouth to give a reply, before closing it. It’s a more complicated question than taken at face value. Yes, she’s still mad at Oksana. How could she not be? The woman is, as Elena put it, the one responsible for putting her out of business. </p><p>Frankly, Eve would be concerned if she wasn’t still at least a bit mad. </p><p>But...things have changed. Eve can’t pretend they haven’t. Ever since Oksana came to her flat that day, soup and cold supplies in hand, and basically let Eve berate her, sneeze all over her, and then proceed to apologize and hold Eve’s very gross hand, it has been different. Eve can’t stop thinking about her, for one thing.</p><p>Well, Eve supposes she should amend, she’s thinking about her about the same amount as she was pre-visit, but definitely, on the whole, in a much nicer light. Less tortured musings, wishes for the blonde to meet slow and/or terrible ends, et cetera. </p><p>So, yes. Oksana left Eve her number and the ball squarely in her court, Eve, predictably, folded after about five days and texted her, and they were off. </p><p>Oksana is clearly still cautious in their conversations, a bit overly reticent at times, but she is also very funny, and interesting, and smart as a whip. Often unrepentantly so, which Eve can’t help but like. </p><p>Honestly, she reminds Eve a bit of @villanelleisright (and isn’t <em> that </em>a trip). </p><p>So they’ve hung out a few times. Big deal. Getting coffee in a cafe, or going for a walk when they both happen to be free and in the same area — who cares! Eve has the time and was going to get coffee anyway, or for a walk, and Oksana is fun to shoot the shit with, whatever. </p><p>It’s <em> fine</em>. Eve is fine!</p><p>But there is really no way to neatly encapsulate all this, and Eve doesn’t want to give them any more reason to think she’s careened off the ledge of “somewhat coping” into the abyss of “fully unhinged,” and also — it’s kind of nice having something that is just her own. So she just says, “I mean, yeah, a little bit. Obviously. But I’m dealing.”</p><p>They both nod, a little too quickly, and so she sighs and adds, “Look, I know you two are gonna worry regardless, but it’s fine. Really. Outside of the whole business shitshow, she’s...not that bad.”</p><p>They nod again, but this time, Elena seems a bit more genuine, her head tilting thoughtfully after a moment. “You know...I wasn’t gonna mention this, but a few days after the shop closed, her assistant reached out to us. Me and Kenny and Hugo, that is. I dunno how he even got our emails, but yeah.”</p><p>Eve frowns. Oksana has never mentioned this. “What did he want?”</p><p>“Hard to believe, but he — well, Oksana — was offering us all jobs. At Villanelle Books.”</p><p>Eve blinks. “Like, at the VB store?”</p><p>Elena shakes her head. “Nah. At <em> corporate</em>. Operations, strategy, that kind of thing. Tech stuff for Kenny. Pretty good roles, too — pay was crazy, probably more than the jobs warranted.” She shrugs. “I sort of got the vibe that someone was trying to make amends of some sort, I dunno.”</p><p>Eve is very still. “And you...did what?”</p><p>Elena gives her a wry look. “Like we were gonna take them, amends or not. You know I’m finally applying to those grad programs, and Kenny has been wanting to go into startups for a while now.”</p><p>Eve notices the omission. “And Hugo…?”</p><p>Elena grimaces. “Okay, well, I think he might’ve been interested, but in a crisis of heretofore-unknown morality has been agonizing over what to do. He feels like he’s betraying you, I guess. Can’t bring himself to talk to you about it, either.”</p><p>“Huh.” Hugo discovering his inner conscience. This <em> has </em>been a transformative few months.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>Eve sits back in her chair, thoughts whirring. Oksana brought her soup. And apologized. And, it seems, tried to re-employ her entire laid-off team, never breathing a word to Eve about it. </p><p>Maybe Even can find time to give that cafe walkthrough after all. </p><p>“And where does this leave your Twitter friend?”</p><p>They both turn to Bill, who has been silently listening, until now.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well...you’re all about Oksana right now, looks like.” </p><p>“Oksana and I are just friends,” Eve replies with an eye roll. “And...I don’t even know what I am with Villanelle. We’ve never actually met, remember? I mean, I still like her and enjoy talking with her, but that hardly has anything to do with Oksana. It’s not like we’re <em> dating</em>, for god’s sake.”</p><p>Bill seems about to say something, but then thinks better of it after trading glances with Elena — and god, their unlikely but firm friendship has always been a source of equal parts amusement and irritation for Eve. He settles for a nod. </p><p>“Anyway, she’s been super busy recently, some big project she’s in the middle of that’s taking up most of her time.” Eve shrugs. “So...yeah.”</p><p>Her phone lights up on the table, and she looks down to see a selfie from Oksana appear on the lock screen, the woman smiling as she clutches a paper coffee cup. Next arrives an accompanying text, a long series of emojis that, Eve supposes, serve to convey Oksana’s apparent approval of the latte. Opening the photo, she can’t help but smile back. </p><p>After a moment, noticing the silence at the table, she looks up to see Elena and Bill staring at her. Again. There is a smile playing at the corners of Elena’s mouth. Bill tilts his head, looking at her expectantly. Eve feels herself flush all over again.</p><p>“<em>What? </em>”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> sorry we haven’t had as much time to talk lately, hope you’re doing well 😊</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Don’t worry about it — my new job is getting pretty crazy as well. </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>And I am, actually. Been able to meet new people recently</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> i’m glad to hear it, meeting people is always good</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>well, i mean i think that’s what people think. as you know i’m not really a people person</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>I do. And I’m not either, really, but I guess there are always exceptions…</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> ...yes. that’s true</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>oh i also wanted to mention that i’ve started that book you were telling me about, the white city one 📖</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Oh! The Devil in the White City? It’s so good, let me know what you think when you’re done</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> will do</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> ugh sorry i need to go — meeting now. but we will talk again soon yeah? </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> also, hopefully will be coming to london soon</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Of course</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> I’ll be here! Just me know</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> take care, tc</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>“So how’s the new job going?”</p><p>“Not bad. We’ve just signed a few new writers, and since I’m new too, it’s a bit of a learning process for all of us. I like it, though. I haven’t had to learn so much all at once in a while, it’s kind of refreshing.”</p><p>Oksana nods, neither of them mentioning the reason why Eve is suddenly being required to learn so much. They’ve gotten good at skating over these little awkward moments. </p><p>Eve gives her a sideways glance. She’s wearing a red printed wrap dress today, with white sneakers — an even sharper break from the suits, but one Eve finds that she rather likes. Not that Eve minds her business persona, but Oksana feels almost more...approachable, like this, softer. Someone who would willingly walk through an admittedly cutesy Saturday street fair, for instance. </p><p>The image of Oksana prowling down this stall-lined street, weaving around children and elderly shoppers with her hands in her pockets and wearing a smirk and that patterned suit she’d worn at the Manderley party pops into her mind unbidden. Eve snorts at the thought. </p><p>Oksana looks at her, a smile forming. “What?”</p><p>Eve shakes her head, amused. “Nothing, it’s just...this doesn’t really strike me as your kind of scene, that’s all.”</p><p>Oksana raises her eyebrows. “Hey! I like cute things too, you know. This place is very—” she pauses as they split apart momentarily to avoid a child armed with a dangerously teetering ice cream cone, bearing down on them fast, “—charming.” She says this last bit with only a mild grimace.</p><p>Eve laughs in her face. </p><p>Oksana glowers for a second, before giving it up and laughing ruefully. “It’s fine. My uncle thinks Irina needs socialization, and I am the perfect person to be her keeper, apparently. He says we are <em> alike</em>.” Her opinion of this sentiment is obvious. </p><p>Eve nods very seriously. “Which is why you’re keeping such a close eye on her.” (Irina has been missing for the last fifteen minutes.)</p><p>“Eh, she’s around,” Oksana replies with an unconcerned shrug. “No doubt terrorizing some poor stall owner. She’ll pop up eventually.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>They walk in companionable silence for a bit. Finally, Eve gives voice to the thought that has been bothering her. (Aside from everything else, that is.) “So...you probably will have to be leaving London soon, I guess.”</p><p>Oksana gives her an unreadable look, her step faltering for a split second. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, it’s just...you’re number two at this massive corporation. Surely you have, you know, other places to be, important business...things…” She trails off. </p><p>Oksana doesn’t reply for a moment. When she does, her voice is the faintest bit strained. “Well, I mean to stay here until I’m confident the store is stable and can go on without my direct management. Our office is expanding here, too, so I can attend to my other obligations without much difficulty.” She walks in silence for a second. “Do you, um...not want to see each other anymore?”</p><p>“No!” The word jumps out of Eve practically without conscious thought. She reddens, and continues in a slightly calmer tone, “No. I mean, I want to. Keep doing what we’re doing. I just...wanted to make sure you weren’t making things more difficult for yourself elsewhere.”</p><p>Oksana looks at her, a slow smile growing on her face. “Is that so?”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>“Eve, if you wanted to hang out more, you only had to ask.”</p><p>Eve just rolls her eyes.</p><p>“As for the other part, I didn’t realize it before but it turns out I am very good at making things difficult for myself, so it just seems par for the course now.”</p><p>Eve blinks and looks at her, but Oksana doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate, looking straight ahead, her smile having dimmed a bit.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Oksana glances at her.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes, yes of course.”</p><p>Eve isn’t overly convinced, but doesn’t press the point. Still, she wants to say something that will restore the smile to the other woman’s face, and so says, “Um...well, okay, that’s good to hear, then. I’m...glad you’re sticking around. You’re not...the worst to hang out with.”</p><p>Sure enough, the smile returns, though now it’s more of a smirk. “Oh? Well, I guess you’re not so bad—”</p><p>“Villanelle!”</p><p>They both turn at the sound of Irina’s voice, seeing the girl running to catch up with them.</p><p>Eve frowns. Villanelle?</p><p>Oksana’s smile has frozen, turned into something of a pained rictus. Irina slows when she sees it, eyes widening, and as she approaches she says, somewhat rushed, “...Books! Villanelle Books is...our business! I just heard someone...mentioning...the store. Yes, the new store. I guess we are making waves. Crazy, huh?”</p><p>She laughs at the end of this little speech, the sound just a bit strained.</p><p>Eve looks at her for a moment, nonplussed, before glancing at Oksana, just in time to see the last of a death glare being directed at the teenager before she is looking back at Eve, forcing a smile. “As you can see, Eve, she’s going to need a lot more socialization.”</p><p>Irina’s carefully constructed, not terribly convincing look of casual humor disappears into very real outrage. “Hey!”</p><p>And then the two of them are squabbling like siblings, never mind that Oksana is more than a decade older than her, and wow, maybe Konstantin wasn’t wrong about them being alike after all.</p><p>Oksana glances at Eve, almost as if seeking reassurance, a more real smile on her face, and Eve smiles back automatically. Her thoughts are turning. It’s ridiculous, of course, but...it almost sounded like Irina was <em> calling </em>Oksana, referring to her in a way that suggested it was practically second nature. </p><p>Strange. </p><p>“Eve! Keep up!”</p><p>Irina’s shout distracts Eve from her train of thought, and she waves at the two of them, hurrying to catch up.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana Astankova]</b> hi eve. wanna come over and watch a movie this weekend? seems only fair, considering i’ve already invited myself over to your place</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> and before you ask, NOT gone girl, i think we both need a break from that 😅</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> You do owe me, now that you mention it. So, sure</p><p><b>[Eve] </b>And you’re probably right. What did you have in mind? American Psycho, The Grudge, something else gory or terrifying or both?</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> eve! please. i am multidimensional</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> have you ever seen the emperor’s new groove?</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>“Eve, don’t do this.”</p><p>“I have to.”</p><p>“This is what <em> you </em>wanted!”</p><p>Eve has to laugh, shaking her head. “No it’s not!”</p><p>“Eve…”</p><p>Eve crosses her arms. She will not give in. (No matter how unwillingly cute she is finding Oksana’s pout.)  “We are <em> not </em>watching The Emperor’s New Groove.”</p><p>Oksana’s lip juts out further, comically sad. “But it is a classic heartwarming story of pride and redemption through painful self-exploration. And there is a llama.”</p><p>Eve gives her a wry look. “A little on the nose, no?”</p><p>Oksana draws back from her place on the sofa. “<em>Eve</em>.”</p><p>Eve looks at her evenly. Oksana looks back. This continues for some moments. </p><p>Finally, Oksana’s eyes widen even further, if that was possible. It’s as if she studied the archetypal face for “plaintive” and is pasting it onto her own, with eerie accuracy. “Please?”</p><p>It is the real note of request in the word that breaks Eve. She sighs, disgusted with herself. “God. I can’t believe we’re doing this. But fine.”</p><p>“Yay!” Oksana hops up, clapping her hands once in excitement. “I’ll get the popcorn going. Can you find the remote? It should be there...somewhere.”</p><p>She’s gone before Eve can roll her eyes. Typical. Eve looks around the (very posh) living room, sees no remote obviously sitting anywhere, not on the high-end coffee table or side tables, on the surprisingly full bookshelves or by the obnoxiously large television. </p><p>She sticks her hands between the (very plush) couch cushions, but still no remote emerges. Finally, with a huff, she slides off the sofa, sticking a hand under the coffee table and waving it wildly — and finally her hand hits something. Wait. Two somethings. She pulls them both out with a frown, and freezes.</p><p>The first object is, sure enough, the remote. The second is a copy of <em> The Devil in the White City</em>, a bookmark sticking out of the middle.</p><p>Unbidden, messages from @villanelleisright appear in her mind. <em> I’ve started that book you were telling me about. The white city one.  </em></p><p>Eve’s thoughts begin to turn.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>eve takes a minute sometimes, but she gets there in the end.</p><p>next one WILL be the final. my outline and i have been engaged in mortal combat.</p><p>thanks for reading!</p><p>@lightfighterfic on the twitters</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She wants to tell her. She needs to tell her. Every day that she wakes up and has a message from @true_crime77, and a text from Eve, is another addition to her not-inconsiderable guilt pile. Considering she is not especially acquainted with guilt, let alone experienced it enough to have accumulated a pile, this is suboptimal. She doesn’t want to be dishonest, not with Eve.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eve is in her apartment.</p><p><em> Eve </em> is in her <em> apartment.</em></p><p>Villanelle will be cool. She will be calm, and chill, and confident. She is those things all the time, has risen to the top of a Fortune 500 company using exactly those strengths. It is fine.</p><p>...But <em> Eve is in her apartment.  </em></p><p>There is no way Villanelle can be chill about this.</p><p>Because Eve is in her apartment — came because she wanted to, no less — and they are hanging out, <em> have </em> been hanging out, and it’s really good, and Eve smiles a little bit whenever she sees her in a way that makes Villanelle think she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. </p><p>So you could say things are getting pretty serious. </p><p>So serious, in fact, that Villanelle thinks that she might even see herself getting to a place to tell Eve the truth — the <em> whole </em> truth — and not worry that Eve will promptly try to stab her. (Pick up the knife, maybe, but think twice before taking the plunge, so to speak.)</p><p>Because as much fun as this has been, the increasingly complicated web of half-truths and omissions she has woven is starting to weigh on her: what she has said to Eve as Oksana, and what as Villanelle; the fact that, really, she and Eve have been talking for months, that Villanelle already knows a startling array of random facts and anecdotes one internet friend might tell another, and think nothing more of it. </p><p>Honestly, Villanelle is beginning to feel like she is catfishing Eve with...herself. It is very confusing. </p><p>(And also, yes, dishonest, she <em> knows</em>, okay? She could teach a class on self-sabotage at this point. She doesn’t want to talk about it.)</p><p>...It’s not that Villanelle doesn’t <em> want </em>to tell Eve, that she is somehow enjoying this little ruse. Oh, maybe at the very beginning, right after she learned the truth of Eve’s Twitter identity and they were still at a cold impasse in person, it did perhaps give her a mild thrill to know that she could still talk to Eve and have the other woman be none the wiser.</p><p>But that phase was short-lived. Because then they fought in the cafe, and Eve thought that Villanelle had stood her up, and <em> then </em>Murder by the Book closed, and Villanelle found herself racked with true regret and guilt for maybe the first time in her life, with no obvious way to make it better.</p><p>(She even, in a moment of madness, considered revealing herself, @villanelleisright, as Oksana, in a desperate bid for Eve to connect the two in her mind, see Oksana as something beyond the soulless corporate asshole and maybe give her a chance, but then the reality sank in that Eve in that moment would’ve just blocked <em> both </em>personas — and then Villanelle really would’ve been shit out of luck). </p><p>So Villanelle had to stop herself, and think. She excels at this in the business frame of mind; short-term and long-term planning, goal-setting, understanding what she wants to see happen and devising the discrete steps that will be needed to get there — it hardly takes any effort at all. </p><p>Like bringing the Villanelle Books store into existence, for instance.</p><p>Personal matters are, of course, another matter entirely. The thought hasn’t escaped her that this is the first time she’s ever cared enough about someone else to recognize that she’s wronged them in some way, that she wants to make things right, and moreover, actually thought about how she might go about it. </p><p>She normally wouldn’t notice, let alone care. But it’s Eve. So it wasn’t really a question of <em> if </em>she was going to attempt it, but merely how. </p><p>Showing up at Eve’s apartment unannounced remains one of the most nerve wracking things Villanelle has ever done, and she’d mostly prepared herself for getting flatly rejected at the entrance, a door unceremoniously slammed in her face. </p><p>But Eve let her in. Villanelle still doesn’t know quite <em> why </em>she did, but she did. </p><p>And it didn’t end in disaster. Eve ate the soup Villanelle bought from that (very highly reviewed) cafe, and didn’t attempt to throw it in her face instead, for one thing. </p><p>She let Villanelle hold her hand. (No point mentioning how many times Villanelle has relived this moment.)</p><p>They hang out. It’s fun, if fun is the word one uses when you feel like your heart is swelling in your chest every time you look at the other person. </p><p>And now Eve is in her apartment. They are going to watch The Emperor’s New Groove. (Villanelle really does like the llama. And the part where Yzma turns herself into a kitten.)</p><p>And Villanelle is both closer and, at the same time, no closer at all to figuring out how to tell her. </p><p>She wants to tell her. She <em> needs </em> to tell her. Every day that she wakes up and has a message from @true_crime77, <em> and </em>a text from Eve, is another addition to her not-inconsiderable guilt pile. Considering she is not especially acquainted with guilt, let alone experienced it enough to have accumulated a pile, this is suboptimal. She doesn’t want to be dishonest, not with Eve.</p><p>It’s just that every time she <em> does </em>imagine telling Eve that she, Villanelle, is Oksana is @villanelleisright, that the corporate VP is the Twitter confidante, that she never really meant to lie to Eve, things started out as a slap-dash attempt to avoid some awkwardness and then one thing led to another and it got complicated and, well, feelings got (more) involved...she imagines Eve’s reaction. The smile disappearing. The warmth in her eyes turning to the contempt that Villanelle has already seen directed towards herself more than a few times and never wants to see again. Her last, best chance, her sincerest attempt at a do-over, ending in dashed hopes and a door closing in her face — for good this time. </p><p>And she’s not really sure she could bear that.</p><p>So this plan is all she really has. Apologize (and mean it). Get Eve to see that Oksana is not so far apart from Villanelle. Build a friendship. Make Eve not hate her. And then...confess. </p><p>Or have @villanelleisright drop off the face of the earth. Whatever works.</p><p>The beeping of the microwave breaks her thoughts, and she pulls the bag of popcorn from within, shaking it a few times before tearing it open and upending it into a bowl. </p><p>That done, she heads back to the living room, resolving to set aside her increasingly depressing train of thought and instead focus on the vastly preferable reality before her, of Eve in her apartment, set to watch a movie with her.</p><p>She <em> will </em>tell Eve everything. But maybe just not right this minute.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Eve is being weird. </p><p>She looked up sharply when Villanelle walked back into the room, standing from where she was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, holding the remote in hand and muttering something about just finding it. She looked distinctly...off in that moment, and stared at Villanelle for long moments, expression unreadable, when Villanelle asked if she still wanted to watch the movie, before finally nodding.</p><p>So now they are watching. At least, Villanelle is. </p><p>Eve is not. </p><p>Oh, her eyes are on the screen, but she is not really taking anything in. She has never been a quiet thinker at the best of times, and right now her thoughts are flying so fast that they are fairly screaming, easily apparent to Villanelle from her place on the sofa half a foot away. </p><p>Villanelle loves the way Eve thinks, giving deep and analytical consideration to just about everything happening to her and around her. It is just one of the many traits Villanelle is so hopelessly attracted to. </p><p>Right now, though, it’s a bit annoying. </p><p>Frankly, Villanelle can’t imagine what has suddenly sent the hamster wheels into overdrive. It’s hard to imagine that something would’ve been able to happen in the interim — she was gone for less than five minutes!</p><p>But something definitely did — perhaps Eve got a text from Bill, or from Elena, some kind of bad news, or suddenly decided that she <em> is </em>pissed at Villanelle, irreparably so, apology or no. Villanelle would almost wonder if Eve somehow stumbled across the boxes and boxes of books she ordered online from Murder by the Book some weeks back, had she not securely wrestled them all into closets and under her bed well before Eve arrived today.</p><p>Should Villanelle ask? Just let her think it out? Does she <em> want </em>to know?</p><p>...Maybe not.</p><p>So she takes the next best option, and decides to try to break the tension and restore their easy normalcy. (There <em> is </em>tension, right? She doesn’t think she’s imagining this!)</p><p>She laughs. Eve jumps minutely before casting a startled glance at her. Villanelle gestures to the TV, where a dinner party is going very wrong. “The emperor, he is a llama now.”</p><p>Eve doesn’t look impressed. Villanelle can’t blame her; it’s not her best material. </p><p>They subside into silence once more, though this time with the added flair of Villanelle feeling spectacularly idiotic.</p><p>Should she try again? Oh god, even she doesn’t know if she can handle <em> that </em>again. </p><p>“Why do you like this movie so much?”</p><p>It’s her turn to stiffen. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but actual movie-related content inquiries was not it. But if it means Eve is talking…</p><p>“Well...it’s a children’s movie, of course, and the premise is silly, but…” She clears her throat, feeling both tense and a tad embarrassed. “I like that someone who is horrible, and not a good person, can recognize his mistakes and try to...be better, and redeem himself.” This is <em> far </em>too much, so she adds, “And it is very funny when they go over the waterfall, of course.”</p><p>But it is too late. Eve has turned to face her fully, eyes deep and considering, and Villanelle knows that she is being thoroughly observed and deconstructed. She tries not to fidget under the examination.</p><p>“Is that important to you? Redemption?”</p><p>Oh no, she is asking <em> questions </em> now. Villanelle <em> hates </em>personal questions; they are the gateway drug to introspection, everyone knows this! </p><p>But Eve is silent, waiting for an answer, and even the hum of Disney in front of them will not fill the expectant pause. So Villanelle sighs, and forces herself to consider the question seriously, because it is from Eve. “Yes. From some people, for some things.”</p><p>She turns to meet Eve’s gaze. If she is to do this, she may as well try to do it right. “Eve...I’ve made so many mistakes. Am <em> making </em>mistakes. And I can’t...fix everything. Don’t even know how. But I recognize what I’ve done, and I…”</p><p>Eve is staring at her, entirely unreadable. Villanelle swallows, and continues, “I like you so much, Eve. You’ve given me a chance to not be an asshole with you, and just...show you that there is more to me.” Twitter comes to mind, and she suppresses a wince. “A lot more.”</p><p>The eye contact becomes too much, and she looks away, back at the TV. “And I know it can’t always have been easy. I’m not very good at people or doing the whole friend thing. I always say the wrong thing and I piss people off. But it never is difficult with you. Never has been.”</p><p>Okay, she didn’t mean to say that last part out loud, but it is all too true. Since she first met Eve online, their rapport has been effortless and near instantaneous; setting aside the deeply horrible, insanely ironic overlap of their real-life identities and interests, it’s not surprising that their in-person chemistry be any different — if anything, it is just <em> more</em>. </p><p>She stops there, feeling like she has stripped naked for how much she has revealed of herself. The silence stretches out next to her, and though her anxiety is spiking she can’t bring herself to look at Eve, for fear of what she might see. Wow, being vulnerable is the <em> worst</em>. Why do people do this?!</p><p>Finally, Eve speaks, and there is a certain...something in her voice that has Villanelle forgetting her previous awkwardness and looking at her without hesitation. “I really like you too, Oksana.”</p><p>Oh, that is why. </p><p>Eve’s eyes are gleaming wetly, and there is absolutely sadness there, though Villanelle doesn’t know why, and other, more complex emotions that are harder for her to pick out. Confusion, maybe? </p><p>“I can see that you’re trying,” Eve continues, picking her words slowly. “Even if...I’m still mad at you, you know.”</p><p>Villanelle winces. “I know.”</p><p>“But I can see what you’re doing. All of it. And I think I...understand.”</p><p>Villanelle looks at her, a bit confused by what Eve is saying, but cautiously optimistic. It’s good to be understood, right? That’s what the movies suggest, anyway. (She should probably stop taking life cues from movies.)</p><p>“And...you’re right. It’s not difficult with you.”</p><p>There is some heavier significance to Eve’s words, in the way that she is saying them, but the weight is lost on Villanelle. All she knows is that Eve is saying she likes spending time with her, too, that it’s neither a burden nor borne out of some masochistic sense of obligation. </p><p>There is a warm feeling spreading in her chest.</p><p>For some reason, Eve looks almost...amused, then. “Even if you do try to convey complex personal characteristics and flaws via sophomoric cartoon movies for children. You weirdo.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“No, no, it’s very...you.”</p><p>Villanlle pouts. “I am a very senior businesswoman, Eve. People take me very seriously.”</p><p>Eve just rolls her eyes.</p><p>But Villanelle’s tortured attempt at sincerity seems to have paid off; Eve is no longer radiating such...weirdness, her thoughts no longer screaming out of her. The line between her eyebrows smooths out, and she smiles. “Do you play cartoon movies for them, too?”</p><p>“No, actually,” Villanelle replies primly. “Just you.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>They lapse into silence, though it is miles more comfortable than the last. </p><p>After a few more minutes of watching the llama-emperor, this time being chased through a jungle by jaguars, Eve speaks. “I heard you offered my team jobs.”</p><p>Oh. <em> Oh</em>. “Um...yes.” She casts an anxious glance at Eve. “It was not meant to be anything bad. I just wanted to...do something. For them.” (For you.) </p><p>Eve nods. “I told Hugo to take it. He’d worked himself into quite a state about the whole thing.”</p><p>“Yes. My assistant told me. I spoke to him, he is quite capable. He will do well, I think.”</p><p>“I agree.” Eve pauses. “Thanks.”</p><p>Villanelle squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “Please do not thank me. Every member of your team is intelligent; Villanelle Books would’ve been happy to have any of them. I didn't do it to...<em> buy </em> your forgiveness. I do not think that I could. That is why I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>They stare at each other. The movie plays on in the background, thoroughly forgotten.</p><p>And just like that, the tension is back. </p><p>Villanelle can’t take it. Any more of this, of Eve looking at her like <em> that</em>, all wide-eyed and probing, and she might feel brave enough to attempt something very ill-advised. So she changes tacks entirely, breaking eye contact and forcing a chuckle. “So. How are things going with your Twitter romance?”</p><p>Whatever she is expecting, it is not for a series of unidentifiable emotions to flicker over Eve’s face before they are overtaken by very real, very pronounced amusement, or exasperation, or both — more than she would think the question would warrant, actually. </p><p>Eve takes a long pause before answering, still looking amused. “You’re really interested in her, huh? Should I be wondering if you have some kind of personal stake in it, or something?”</p><p>Oh god. “Um, haha, no, of course not!” Evade, evade! “Just...curious. Your life has a lot more going on in it than mine.”</p><p>Eve arches a brow. “Somehow I doubt that.”</p><p>Villanelle laughs, the sound strained to her own ear. “Yes...well...you know...not really.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” Eve doesn’t look too convinced. Still, mercifully, she lets it go, saying, “To answer your question, it’s going well, actually. We’re going to meet up soon.”</p><p>“Oh?” And the fact that this makes Villanelle jealous for a split second is obviously completely fucking <em> insane </em>, but that’s par for the course these days. </p><p>Eve nods very seriously. “Oh yeah. I think we’ve got a lot of potential, actually. I’m pretty excited.”</p><p>“That’s...that’s great.” Villanelle can feel a headache forming behind her eyes. Why did she get herself into this situation? <em> How </em>did she get herself into this situation? </p><p>(Oh right. It’s because she is a massive idiot.)</p><p>Eve nods again, her lips quirking. She is looking far too entertained by this exchange for Villanelle’s taste. “Any day now. I’ll keep you posted.”</p><p>Villanelle forces a smile. “Yes! Please do, Eve, I am...all ears.”</p><p>“I’ll bet.” </p><p>And then Eve turns back to the movie, all serenity and (sudden and strangely convenient) interest in the current antics of the llama-emperor. </p><p>Villanelle stares at her for a few tortured moments before doing the same, her headache only getting worse. </p><p>This is a fucking nightmare, entirely of her own making. What is she going to <em> do?</em></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>This is the best thing ever. Eve can work with this.</p><p>Okay, she was pissed at first, and then in shock, and also deciding just how much betrayal she should be feeling, but then Oksana started talking — about something else entirely, at least on its face — and it was instantly made clear that she is putting herself through more agonized guilt and self-loathing than Eve could ever hope to inflict. </p><p>(And Eve can inflict a <em> lot</em>, when sufficiently motivated.)</p><p>So, yeah. It’s not great, and Oksana is an idiot, but she is the idiot Eve has known and talked to for <em> months </em>— whichever iteration — and, after reflection, it seems she isn’t ready to kick her to the curb just yet. (Especially for the crime of, at the end of the day, acting entirely true to her socially-awkward self, and why should Eve expect anything less?)</p><p>None of this, of course, means that Eve is prepared to let her off the hook just yet, because this whole situation is, of course, <em> insane</em>, and, well, it’s fun to watch Oksana squirm. She deserves it, a little bit. </p><p>So, like she said. She can work with this.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Hey. You there?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> of course. what’s up?</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>So I was thinking, I’d really like to meet soon. No more waiting, you know? Think you can come to London soon?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> well, i will need to figure out my schedule, this project i’ve been working on has hit some unforeseen snags</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Come on, surely you can figure out from here too, right? I’d really like to meet</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> That’s what you want too, isn’t it?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> yes, of course it is</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> and you’re right. i can figure it out. no problem. </p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Great!</p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>Think you can be here two weekends from now?</p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>Also, did you ever finish The Devil in the White City, by any chance?</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> Think I’m gonna meet the Twitter friend soon. She’s coming to London soon. Excited to see where it goes!</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana Astankova] </b>great! that is great. so great. great news.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>Everything is terrible and there is no respite from her troubles. </p><p>Eve has pressed the point. Her patience has run out, or she is doubting @villanelleisright is a real person, or she just is sick of Oksana — whatever the reason, she wants to meet, and she wants to meet soon. </p><p>And Villanelle still hasn’t figured out how to tell her.</p><p>Yes, this whole situation is one of her own making, the chickens are coming home to roost, she has dug this grave and now must lie in it, blah blah blah — all these stupid English idioms do is say inane things that don’t mean anything, none actually tell her <em> what to do! </em></p><p>It’s over. She’s fucked. She should just run while she still can, disappear into the night, back to her flat in Paris or Berlin or Amsterdam and lick her wounds and either try to forget Eve or think about what a massive, worldshattering, <em> moron </em>she’s found herself to—</p><p>A bottlecap bounces off her forehead. “Villanelle! Are you broken? You look like you’re about to step into traffic.”</p><p>She stops short in the middle of the sidewalk they’re walking down to scowl at Irina, the teenager scowling unrepentantly right back before taking a swig of her (now capless) Coke. </p><p>Villanelle scoffs after a moment, looking away. “It’s nothing. I am fine.”</p><p>“Sure,” Irina replies, rolling her eyes. “But if you’re gonna be like this for a while I need to know now because my dad says there is only room for one angsty teen in this family.”</p><p>“I am <em> not</em>—” Villanelle grinds her teeth. “I am not an angsty teen.”</p><p>Irina just gives her a look. </p><p>Villanelle rubs an aggrieved hand down her face — <em> why </em>is she engaging in this — before setting off again, towards the Villanelle Books store for another periodic inspection. They are taking the long way, so as to not walk past the now empty Murder by the Books storefront. </p><p>She hears Irina toss the bottle in the general direction of a trash can before jogging to catch up. She resolutely ignores the girl. She will <em> not </em>engage.</p><p>Irina doesn’t take the hint. “So what’s your issue?”</p><p>“I am fine.” (That this comes out mostly as a growl is neither here nor there.)</p><p>“It can’t be the store,” Irina muses aloud. “It’s doing great. So is the company generally. Our quarterly earnings are amazing, and we’re about to expand into three new regions. And you don’t do anything else, so I don’t— wait.”</p><p>Oh god. Villanelle keeps her face impassive. </p><p>“It’s Eve, isn’t it.”</p><p>Villanelle doesn’t respond. Her face doesn’t get the memo, though, and Irina crows triumphantly. “I knew it!”</p><p>“Mind your business, Irina.”</p><p>Irina ignores this completely, rubbing her chin in theatric thought. (Villanelle would be proud, in another time and place, but as it is she’s suppressing the urge to pick up the girl and piledrive her into the sidewalk.)</p><p>“Did you do something to her?” Irina tilts her head. “Well, aside from what you’ve already done to her, I mean.”</p><p>That does it. “If this is your way of helping, it needs a lot of work. Like, a <em> lot</em>.”</p><p>“So you <em> did </em>do something.”</p><p>“I didn’t—” Villanelle stops short, blowing out a frustrated breath. “It’s very complicated."</p><p>“Well, good thing I have a genius-level IQ.” Irina casts a glance at her. “I do like Eve, you know.”</p><p>Villanelle can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I have.”</p><p>“You know...you can tell me about it. If you want.” Irina shoves her hands in her pockets, taking a sudden interest in the passerby around them. “Maybe I can help brainstorm. Or whatever.”</p><p>Villanelle studies her, seeing in that moment that maybe Konstantin has a point in his endless exasperated comparisons of the two. A spark of fondness runs through her, and she says, “I sort of doubt that, but, since you asked…”</p><p>She briefly outlines everything that has occurred since she met Eve at the cafe and learned that she and @true_crime77 were one and the same: the argument, the soup, the hanging out, the...feelings and proportional rise in utter panic and sense of impending doom. </p><p>“...so yeah. That’s where we’re at. She wants to meet me. Villanelle. We have <em> plans </em> to meet. Only she thinks that is someone who is not me, who she thinks is Oksana, and I have absolutely no clue what to do…” She peters out, somehow even more depressed. Explaining the situation out loud has only emphasized how ridiculous it all is and, more importantly, how fucked <em> she </em>is. </p><p>Villanelle looks over after a moment, somewhat nervous, to see Irina studying her, eyes squinted. She laughs uncomfortably. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just trying to see if the brain damage is externally visible.”</p><p>About three minutes later, once Irina has extracted herself from the headlock Villanelle places her in, and angrily fixed her hair, they resume their conversation. </p><p>“You <em> are </em>an idiot. I have no idea how you managed this.”</p><p>Villanelle groans. “I <em> know</em>, okay.” </p><p>“You have to tell her.”</p><p>“No shit, Sherlock.”</p><p>“Well, you seem confused on the subject.”</p><p>“This is what the genius-level IQ is getting me? I know I do, I just don’t know <em> how</em>.” Villanelle kicks idly at a can in their path, rather forlorn. “Without...you know, having her instantly hating me and never talking to me again. In any form.”</p><p>Irina blows out a breath. “Jesus. Okay. She’s meeting Villanelle soon, right? Twitter Villanelle, I mean.”</p><p>“God, don’t remind me. But yes. I mean, it can never happen, but...”</p><p>“Okay, well...” Irina look at her. “Go.”</p><p>Villanelle stops walking. (Utterly ignoring the trio of businessmen who have to swerve around her and their accompanying dirty looks.) “<em>Go? </em>”</p><p>Irina nods. “You have to go. But before that, you need to tell her.” </p><p>“Tell her?” (Villanelle is aware she’s just repeating everything Irina is saying, but she’s honestly not sure if she’s hallucinating right now.) “Tell her what?!”</p><p>Irina pierces her with a look. “How you feel, dumbass. Like, actually. No more games. She’s an adult — she deserves to know the truth, and then she can decide for herself. She can take it, I think. Call her, tell her in person, whatever. But you have to do it.”</p><p>Villanelle stares at her for a long moment. Two. And then bursts into laughter. “You— you can’t be serious.”</p><p>Irina just shakes her head and starts walking off, calling over her shoulder, “You know I’m right.”</p><p>Villanelle’s laughter begins to peter out as she watches Irina’s turned back. “Hey...hey! Irina! That’s ridiculous! You know that!”</p><p>Irina just keeps walking. </p><p>Villanelle stares at her retreating form. Her laughter has stopped completely.</p><p>
  <em> You have to tell her how you feel. </em>
</p><p>She is so fucked. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>villanelle is really going thru it!! a baring of hearts looms!!</p><p>okay, yes, this is not the last chapter either. i have no explanation. suffice it to say i will not be saying next chapter is the last bc my credibility is shot to hell, but...there will be more. </p><p>thanks for reading!</p><p>@lightfighterfic for an up-close view of my angst</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>...It seems she is meeting Eve tomorrow.</p><p>And letting the cards fall where they may. </p><p>Fuck.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> You have to tell her how you feel.  </em>
</p><p>Wow, Irina. Yeah. No problem. Just tell her. Just tell Eve...how she feels. Why didn’t <em> she </em>think of that?</p><p>“Hi Eve, how’s it going, you look great, oh, by the way — I’ve been lying to you, intentionally and unintentionally, about many different things, pretty much from the moment I met you. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. This is a cause for panic in itself, actually, as I’ve never felt this way towards someone else and don’t really know what to do with it. Or myself. Sorry.”</p><p>...Yeah. It’s not looking good. If this was a business Villanelle Books was considering acquiring, she would be ending negotiations and withdrawing without a backwards glance.</p><p>If this was a rom-com, it would all be so simple. </p><p>There would be a confession. Tear-filled and sincere. </p><p>Instant understanding would follow, of course. Hands clasped on either side of her face. Wide eyes, filled with understanding, taking her in. An embrace. A kiss. Swelling music. Fireworks, probably.</p><p>But it’s not a rom-com.</p><p>It’s just Villanelle, and the end result of all her mistakes.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> have you ever been in a situation that has no good outcome?</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>damned if you do it, damned if you do not do it, or whatever</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> did i get that right?</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>...close enough</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> And of course. I think we all have</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>and what did you do?</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Think about how the situation got to be where it is, and why</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Consider what I want out of it. And the same for everyone else involved</p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>And then...be brave. Make a decision</p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>And live with whatever happens after</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>you make it sound so simple</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> It’s not. But it doesn’t have to be agonizing, either, I think. Not always</p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>...Is this about something specific?</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>no! no. not at all</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>just wondering — you know i love seeing how you think about things</p><p><b>@villanelleisright: </b>haha</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>Right.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> Hey there. </p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana Astankova]</b> hi eve</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> This is a bit random...but wanted to ask if you’re ok? </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> You’ve been a bit...off, lately, I dunno</p><p><b>[Eve]</b> I could be totally off the mark</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> oh um no i am ok</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> work has been picking up a bit lately, that is all</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> can be a little tiring sometimes </p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Okay. You sure? </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Hopefully it isn’t weird for me to say you can talk to me</p><p><b>[Eve]</b> About stuff. If you had any stuff, I mean</p><p><strong>[Eve]</strong> We could get coffee or something</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> i appreciate that. it’s not weird</p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> i don’t really have anything special to talk about, but always happy to spend time with you</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Okay. </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Cafe Helene’s this weekend? :)</p><p> </p><p><b>[Oksana]</b> sure</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Eve watches Oksana toy with her coffee spoon, stirring and stirring mechanically for ages, before finally withdrawing the utensil and staring at it.</p><p>“Looking for answers?” </p><p>Oksana’s eyes flash up to meet hers, startled. “Sorry?”</p><p>Eve looks pointedly at the spoon, and Oksana reddens just a bit, putting it down on the saucer. “Uh, no, no. Just...thinking. Business stuff.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” Eve sits back in her chair, considering the woman across from her. She looks...tired, circles apparent under her eyes, all the more notable considering how perfect her skin usually is, and she’s dressed decidedly down — for her, anyway — in a black bomber jacket and high-top sneakers, hair tossed into a bun. </p><p>Eve would normally wonder what’s going with her — be concerned, even — but as it is, thinks she has a pretty good idea of the issues at hand. </p><p>She’s been having a certain amount of fun with exactly those issues, after all. </p><p>And, she can admit, it’s been at Oksana’s expense. Oh, she’s known that all along — it was part of the appeal, actually, a (mostly) harmless way to get back at Oksana for her shenanigans and, maybe, help Eve work out some of the latent anger she’s still been harboring. </p><p>Considering Oksana’s been doing the exact same thing to her — messaging, texting, talking, <em> knowing</em>, all this time — she hasn’t been exactly consumed with guilt, frankly.</p><p>But it may be time to drop the act. Or at least help move things along. Because one, she’s finding herself tired of waiting, two, Oksana appears to be floundering more than ever, and three, it’s time to admit that it may not have been as harmless as she’s been telling herself. </p><p>(This doesn’t mean that she <em> regrets </em> it; let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Oksana is <em> still </em>lying to her, right now, at this very moment. But she is aware that her own counter-maneuvers, fun as they may be, are of limited productivity, to either of them.)</p><p>She possibly has miscalculated, just a bit. Or at least this detour has come to its natural end. It’s been fun toying with Oksana — Villanelle — god, this is going to be confusing — but the time has come to press the point. To get Oksana to come <em> clean</em>, after everything. </p><p>Eve would do it, in her place. </p><p>(Wouldn’t she?</p><p>...Whatever. It’s Oksana on the stand, not her. Moving on.)</p><p>Trouble is, it’s not really something she can make happen strictly from her end. It’s Oksana who will have to find the courage, or the window of opportunity, or the signal she’s apparently waiting for, to broach the subject. </p><p>The funny thing is, Eve thinks she <em> does </em>want to. Once Oksana learned the truth, she could’ve easily opted to disappear, both as Oksana and as Villanelle, with Eve none the wiser. (Ghosting, isn’t that what Hugo called it?) </p><p>Hell, she could’ve done that after their fight in the cafe — god knows Eve wasn’t going to be the one to make a move after that. No, it was Oksana who chose to return. And has kept choosing to do so. She may be playing a game too complicated for her own good at the same time, but Eve has thought about it, has thought about <em> her</em>, and doesn’t think it’s malicious. That’s not Oksana. (Not Villanelle.)</p><p>Oksana is just…well, very bad at all this.</p><p>(And that’s not exactly news to Eve, is it?)</p><p>Point in fact, now that Eve knows, she’s replayed every interaction they’ve had — she doesn’t know how long Oksana has known, after all, but has decided it must at least have been since before she came to Eve’s to apologize, she was <em> so weird </em> that day — and reads so many things differently in this new light. So much of Oksana’s angst and guilt and worry, which Eve has always thought is just (strong) lingering guilt from their past in-person fights and the business shitshow, seem to say something else entirely, to indicate the inner conflict practically screaming from the other woman. The strained moments Eve would’ve before written off now make renewed sense of an altogether different kind. </p><p>Eve could swear there have been distinct moments when Oksana just looks at her, something in her eyes, and is about to just <em> tell </em>her, but then loses her nerve and looks away or makes a dumb joke to break the tension and the moment passes.</p><p>It’s getting a bit annoying, actually. So Eve has had to take matters into her own hands. Subtly get Oksana to move in the direction Eve wants. (Maybe not so subtly. Whatever.)</p><p>She’s already forced a meeting between herself and Villanelle — for tomorrow, actually. And she thinks the woman before her will show. Hopes so, anyway. </p><p>But first, they are meeting here. At their regular coffee shop. (Matcha lattes, extra foam, have been acquired.) And Eve is going to see if she can gauge just where exactly Oksana...Villanelle’s head is at. </p><p>(From the way Oksana has moved on to shredding her napkin into thin strips, things don’t seem overly promising in that regard.)</p><p>There is no plan beyond that, really. There never has been, when it comes to Oksana. Things have a way of developing on their own between them. </p><p>But anyway. Back to the matter at hand, which incidentally incorporates one of her favorite activities: thinking deeply about Oksana and why she does things. (Yes, she can finally admit this to herself. And all the better if her subject is directly before her!)</p><p>“Oksana.”</p><p>Oksana looks up from where she’s been moodily staring at the pile of shredded tissue that once constituted her napkin. “Hmm?”</p><p>“You okay?” Eve meets her eyes. “Really.”</p><p>Oksana’s shoulders slump, and Eve sighs, her heart clenching sympathetically at the very real misery radiating from the other woman. </p><p>This whole thing is just so...<em> stupid</em>, honestly, and Eve can’t even fathom how things got to be where they are, but it is clearly making Oksana miserable. </p><p>And even if she is an idiot, well...she’s <em> Eve’s </em>idiot, isn’t she?</p><p>“Look, I can tell something’s bothering you.” Oksana doesn’t reply, and Eve decides to take a chance, remembering a moment in her apartment. She slowly reaches across the table, to where Oksana’s hand fidgets with the pile of destroyed napkin — Oksana, wide-eyed, makes no move to withdraw — and lightly grasps it. “You’ve been down for a while. You can...you can talk to me, you know?”</p><p>Oksana’s hand is warm. She stares at Eve, and then to their hands, and then something flashes across her face and she squeezes Eve’s hand once before pulling away, letting out a strained chuckle. “I know, I know. But it is fine. You have much more interesting things going on, after all, that are much more fun to talk about.”</p><p>Eve blinks. Does she mean… “You mean meeting Villanelle tomorrow?”</p><p>Oksana nods, expression unreadable. </p><p>Eve pauses. Well, this is unexpected. She did, in a fit of amused pique, text Oksana about the specific plans to meet she’s made with her “Twitter friend,” but outside of a terse, clearly stressed acknowledgement, Oksana has not seemed overly inclined to discuss the matter — a far cry from the many inquiries she was making previously into Eve’s love life. But now, here the issue is again — and prompted by Oksana herself. Interesting.</p><p>Well, it may not be the opening Eve was anticipating, but that doesn’t mean she won’t take it. “Uh, okay. Yeah, that’s happening tomorrow. A long time coming.”</p><p>Oksana nods again, eyes lowering to stare at the table. “So you are excited, huh.”</p><p>“Uh...well, yeah.” Because she’s Eve, and she just can’t resist sometimes, and maybe it’ll even lighten the mood, she adds, “What can I say, I think we have a real connection.”</p><p>It falls a bit flat. Oksana seems to shrink even more, and Eve instantly regrets her flippant remark. Before she can try to make amends, though, Oksana is talking. “Can I ask you something, Eve?”</p><p>Eve tries not to react, though her heartrate definitely picks up. “Sure.”</p><p>“This Twitter...person. You are so sure she is the woman for you. That she is what you are looking for, there is no other person who could make you happy.”</p><p>Eve laughs uneasily. Where is Oksana going with this? “Well, I wouldn’t go that far...I don’t think anyone can have that kind of certainty. But based on what I’ve seen so far, I have a good feeling, yeah. About her. Enough to meet her, anyway.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Oksana finally raises her head, meets Eve’s eyes. “You know, sometimes I wonder.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“Well…” Oksana takes a breath. “Sometimes I just think about it. If I hadn’t been Villanelle Books...and you hadn’t been Murder by the Book…”</p><p>Eve’s breath catches in her throat.</p><p>“...And you and I had just...met.”</p><p>“Oksana—”</p><p>“I would have asked for your number.”</p><p>Eve stops short. Oksana is still looking at her, very direct, words pouring out of her now that they’ve started up. “I wouldn’t have been able to wait a normal, cool amount of time before texting you, Eve. And we would’ve gotten drinks, or dinner, and never been at war. The only thing we would ever argue about, the only thing we would have <em> reason </em>to argue about, would be what movie to watch on weekends.”</p><p>She stops. Eve stares at her. There is a very real pain somewhere in her chest, and it takes her a moment to find her voice. “That...that sounds kind of nice.”</p><p>Oksana lets out a short laugh, entirely devoid of humor. “Yeah.”</p><p>The pain has intensified. Eve would worry that she’s having a heart attack, if it wasn’t accompanied by growing sadness. “Oksana…”</p><p>Oksana shakes her head. “It’s fine, Eve. But let me ask you just one more thing. This...this woman stood you up. How can you forgive her for that...and not forgive me, for this tiny little thing...of putting you out of business?” She smiles, though it falls flat. Her lips are trembling, just a bit. “I know I don’t deserve it, but how I wish you would.”</p><p>Eve can’t take this. Fuck the plan, fuck slowly coaxing the truth out of Oksana, she has to confront her right <em> now,</em> put an end to this ridiculous charade that is just making them both miserable. “Oksana, listen—”</p><p>But Oksana is shaking her head, scraping her chair back shrilly and lurching to her feet. “I’m sorry, Eve, ignore me, I am not being fair to you.”</p><p>“<em>Wait</em>, dammit—”</p><p>Oksana just shakes her head, already stepping away. “Don’t worry about it, have fun tomorrow. I’ll text you, okay?”</p><p>And then she’s gone, practically running out of the cafe before Eve can so much as grab her sleeve.</p><p>Eve stares after her, mouth open. What the hell just happened? She has half a mind to chase after her — this isn’t a dumb rom-com, Oksana may have long legs but she can’t have gotten <em> that </em> far — but gives it up. Oksana’s fear of rejection and self-loathing at the web she’s caught herself in clearly run deeper than even Eve has thought. In her current frame of mind Eve doubts she’d make much headway with the other woman even if she <em> did </em>manage to tackle her to the ground. </p><p>No, this will require a defter touch. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve Park]</b> Hi. Is this Irina?</p><p> </p><p><b>[Unknown Number] </b>Sorry, grade changes are suspended for the time being. For my old rate, anyway. Sweeten the deal and then maybe we can talk</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve] </b>What? No. This is Eve. Bookstore Eve.</p><p> </p><p><b>[Unknown Number]</b> Eve! It’s a pleasure. Not sure how you got my number but I certainly don’t mind 😉</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Glad to hear it, because I need your help.</p><p> </p><p><b>[Unknown Number]</b> It would be my pleasure, Eve, I’d be happy to help you 😊 What’s up?</p><p> </p><p><b>[Eve]</b> It’s about Oksana.</p><p><b>[Eve]</b> Or should I say, Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p><b>[Unknown Number]</b> Oh </p><p><b>[Unknown Number]</b> OH</p><p><b>[Unknown Number]</b> Well, this just got interesting.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> We’re still on for tomorrow, right?</p><p><b>@true_crime77:</b> Super excited!</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle stares at this message, her heart sinking. That’s it, then. She’s run out of time. She’s fucked it all up, still hasn’t found a way to tell Eve, and if anything, has just made things worse. </p><p>And she has no idea how to respond.</p><p>She drops her phone onto the coffee table and squeezes her eyes shut, tipping her head back against the sofa cushions. If a sinkhole could just open up immediately below her, swallowing her into the earth forever, that’d be great. </p><p>She doesn’t have much more time to muse on her longing for the sweet embrace of the earth before a sound of movement has her opening her eyes to a, somehow, even more unpleasant reality than the one she was in ten seconds previous: Irina is on her phone. </p><p>Irina is <em> typing </em>on her phone. </p><p>“IRINA!”</p><p>The girl dances away from Villanelle’s lunge towards her, letting out a triumphant “Ha!” as she does. </p><p>“What are you <em> doing</em>, you little shit?!”</p><p>Irina smirks at her, and turns the phone so that Villanelle can see: </p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> absolutely! i’ll be there</p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> and i am, too 😊</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle growls. That, combined with whatever her current expression is, has Irina chuckling nervously, taking a step back with her hands up. “Ahahaha, look, Villanelle, before you do anything you might regret—” </p><p>“You are <em> dead</em>.”</p><p>Irina squeaks, turns on her heel, and runs. </p><p>About seven minutes later, Villanelle has concluded furiously chasing Irina throughout the living room, kitchen, bedroom, study, and back into the living room — Irina alternating between screaming “You’ll thank me later,” “I had a good reason,” “We are family, you can’t kill me,” and just screaming, while Villanelle just generally roars — having grabbed her in a headlock in one arm and snatched her phone back with the other. </p><p>Frantic, she unlocks her phone and goes to the Twitter app. Her stomach drops. Not only have the messages sent — Eve has <em> replied</em>. </p><p> </p><p><b>@true_crime77: </b>Great! See you tomorrow!</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle groans. Her fate is sealed. And at the hands of her life-ruining teenage cousin who is way too comfortable with inviting herself over at all hours of the day. “<em>Why</em>, Irina. Why?!”</p><p>Irina shifts uncomfortably against her, pushing ineffectively at her arm. “<em>Because, </em> I know you would have chickened out and not gone and then hated yourself forever and always wondered what could’ve been.” </p><p>She finally succeeds at freeing herself from Villanelle’s suddenly lax arm, straightening her shirt with a huff. “And now you can’t because you’ve committed yourself and you won’t be able to stand her up just like you couldn’t at the cafe.”</p><p>“Why are you torturing me like this?!”</p><p>“I’m helping you, dipshit!” Irina scowls at her. “The world’s most thankless job. You love Eve and if it was left up to you you’d screw it all up forever. Enough — you are going to meet her tomorrow and let whatever happens, happen. Don’t even <em> try </em> to get out of it, either — I’ll know, and I’ll be more annoying than you ever thought I could be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a life.”</p><p>And with that, another fierce scowl, and a haughty sniff, she once more turns on her heel, and leaves — but not before grabbing the box of very expensive gourmet pastries Villanelle just bought, and taking them with her, flashing the finger as she goes. </p><p>Villanelle makes no move to stop her. She is pretty sure she is in a state of shock.</p><p>Irina knows she loves Eve. Sees straight through her, apparently. Villanelle <em> really </em> hopes she isn’t equally transparent to the general public. Or any specific member of the general public.</p><p>...It seems she is meeting Eve tomorrow.</p><p>And letting the cards fall where they may. </p><p>Fuck.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p><b>[Irina Vasilieva] </b>I like you, Eve, but you really owe me</p><p><b>[Irina] </b>Like, REALLY owe me</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Eve really hopes Oksana isn’t going to stand her up. </p><p>Again. </p><p>Irina came through with the text assist — at great cost, apparently — but...there’s really no way to be sure, is there?</p><p>Oksana was so...scared, yesterday. Eve can’t get her face out of her mind, as she asked Eve why she couldn’t forgive her, practically pled for her to do so anyway. </p><p>Eve is beyond her anger, now. She is just worried about Oksana, and so ready for this whole silly charade to be put to rest and behind them, once and for all. </p><p>She thinks the two of them deserve some sincerity, for once. Just as a change of pace. </p><p>The funny thing is, despite all these illusions and personas they’ve wrapped themselves in, Eve has never doubted that their connection is anything but genuine.</p><p>Oksana lied, fine. But before she did, before they actually met, they’d already been speaking for months, @villanelleisright and @true_crime77. And then Eve did meet her in person, unknowingly, and was promptly wrapped up in the infuriating complexities and contradictions that Oksana the corporate suit seemed to consist of. </p><p>Being able to combine the two in her head has never been more satisfying. </p><p>So she really hopes Oksana will show. She just needs her to be a little brave. </p><p>She lets out a long sigh, leaning back against the park bench. Perhaps in a good sign, it’s an extremely unlikely non-miserable London autumn day, not raining and the sun even making a few guest appearances now and again. Eve will opt to take it as a good omen, anyway.</p><p>That Oksana — Villanelle, this still isn’t any less confusing — chose a park, as opposed to a cafe or a bar or something as their meeting place is somewhat amusing to Eve. Perhaps she wanted a public place that she could sprint out of at a moment’s notice. Easy access to getaway cars. Lots of witnesses to attempted homicide.</p><p>Eve should just be happy she didn’t pick the Villanelle Books store, she supposes.</p><p>Oksana is five minutes late. Eve will keep waiting.</p><p>Trust is a choice, and so she has decided to trust that the other woman won’t let her down. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Villanelle is going to be sick. </p><p>She’s late, for one thing. She’d spent most of the morning first huddling in bed, wondering why her life was a joke to the universe and still hoping for that sinkhole, and then, once it was clear the earth would not be welcoming her at this time, panicking completely over what to wear. </p><p>(Her apartment has never been so thoroughly covered in rejected haute couture.)</p><p>Clothing is so important, after all. It is the first thing another person notices, it makes the first impression and is how one projects their power and persona into the world.</p><p>Villanelle needs every bit of power she can get, if she is to survive this. </p><p>But as she was skimming over the Villanelle power suits, the chic designer dresses, her hands had slowed. She wants to make a good impression, yes. </p><p>But how does she want Eve to see her? </p><p>As Oksana? As @villanelleisright? </p><p>...No. As Villanelle. Just Villanelle, as she really is. As she’s ever really been.</p><p>She tugs at her turtleneck, feeling herself sweat under the high collar. The blue top made her think of Eve, when she saw it, so she pulled it on. The khaki jacket and plaid trousers just make her feel like <em> her </em>, whoever that is, so they came along too, and now they are all sitting in the back of this car, willing the driver to go both faster and slower. </p><p>Nausea is creeping up her throat. She swallows.</p><p>Eve. Oh god, Eve. Please don’t hate her. Please, please.</p><p>She thinks back to every message she’s ever traded with @true_crime77. How effortlessly the mysterious user captured, and then kept, her attention. </p><p>That only multiplied when she learned it was Eve. </p><p>Eve’s last piece of advice, as TC, runs through her mind.</p><p>
  <em> Be brave. Make a decision. And then, live with whatever happens after.  </em>
</p><p>Brave, smart, beautiful Eve.</p><p>The car is almost at the park.</p><p>
  <em> Be brave.  </em>
</p><p>Villanelle pulls out her phone.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**</p><p>Oksana still isn’t here. Eve tries not to let the kernel of dismay in her chest turn into anything more.</p><p>Don’t let me down, Oksana.</p><p>Her phone lights up in her hand, and she looks down to see two messages appear on the lock screen. She blinks. They are from different senders.</p><p> </p><p><b>@villanelleisright:</b> sorry i’m late. had a bit of a crisis. so, there are a few things i haven’t told you... </p><p><b>[Oksana Astankova]</b> ...but i'm going to tell you now. give me a chance to explain?</p><p> </p><p>Eve stares at the messages. Villanelle. Oksana.</p><p>Before she has more than a moment to process them, and what they are telling her — what <em> Oksana </em> is telling her — she hears the sound of approaching footsteps, and then, a voice. <em> That </em> voice. </p><p>“Hi, Eve.”</p><p>She looks up. Oksana stands before her, a tremulous smile on her lips. Her phone is in her hand. She raises it, and Eve can see that her Twitter DMs are open, the long conversation there between @villanelleisright and @true_crime77 visible. “Or, I guess I should say, TC?”</p><p>Eve gapes at her. Okay, she had hoped for bravery, and it seems Oksana has decided to deliver. In spades. </p><p>Oksana seems to take this reaction as utter disbelief, which, fair. “You probably have a lot of questions.” She takes a breath, gathers herself. “And I know this must be a shock, and I totally understand, but I just want you to know I never started out trying to lie to you or hide things from you, things just got a little out of hand—”</p><p>“Oksana—”</p><p>“—and once they did I didn’t know to fix them or how to tell you, since things were already so messed up once we figured out who we were to each other in the real world and your store closed, which I am still <em> so </em>sorry about, Eve—”</p><p>“<em>Oksana— </em>”</p><p>“—I know you might not believe me but hiding things from you has been driving me absolutely insane, I can’t sleep, I’ve been feeling guilt, Eve, <em> guilt</em>, which as you know is very out of character for me, and this is all just because it’s <em> you</em>, and I’ve been forced to conclude that it’s because I love—”</p><p>“Villanelle!”</p><p>This finally gets the desired result. The other woman stops talking, lips pressing together. </p><p>Eve lets out a long breath, looking at her; Villanelle looks prepared for Eve to destroy her entirely. “You know, you give me a lot of shit for my username, but can we talk about just how annoying and egotistical ‘Villanelle is right’ is?” She rolls her eyes. “‘Family nickname,’ my ass.”</p><p>Oksana — <em> Villanelle </em>— is flabbergasted. That much is immediately evident. She stares at Eve, poleaxed, for long moments, before clearing her throat. “You...you are not surprised.”</p><p>Eve just raises her eyebrows at her, expectant.</p><p>“You...you knew?”</p><p>Eve shrugs. “I didn’t. Not for a while. But you’re not very good at keeping things separate, when all is said and done. And you should probably keep better track of your books.” </p><p>“I don’t…”</p><p>“The Devil in the White City.”</p><p>Understanding dawns. Villanelle squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment. “Oh.” She opens them again, and they stare at each other. “But you are not...mad?”</p><p>Eve lifts a shoulder. “I mean, I was. I may have messed with you. Just a little bit. I sort of thought you deserved it.”</p><p>“Oh,” Villanelle says again. “Well, yes.” She looks down, twisting her hands together. She has been thrown for a loop, Eve can see. “I don’t really…I wasn’t expecting…”</p><p>When she raises her head again, her eyes are wet. “If you knew, even for some of it, then you should also know how sorry I am, Eve. For all of it. I meant everything I just said. I didn’t want any of this to happen like it did. I just didn’t know...what to do about it. How to tell you.”</p><p>Eve smiles, just a bit. “I sort of got that.”</p><p>Villanelle doesn’t return the smile, her lips turned down. “You should be mad at me, Eve. I’ve made so many mistakes—”</p><p>“—Hey, hey,” Eve interrupts. “I think I should be the judge of that. And seems to me you’ve been punishing yourself for months, more than I ever could.” She rises to her feet, so that they are facing each other. “I think we should both cut ourselves a little slack, don’t you?”</p><p>Villanelle just looks at her. Standing, she is quite a lot taller than Eve, which Eve usually finds annoying but right now finds that she...doesn’t. When she replies, her voice has dropped, both in volume and pitch, and, for the first time, Eve doesn’t bother ignoring the shiver that runs through her. “Do you think we...deserve that?”</p><p>Eve takes a step towards her. “I think...we get to decide that for ourselves.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Some of the misery is draining from Villanelle’s face. She no longer looks like she’s about to cry. Eve finds that she rather likes it. “So you were enjoying tormenting me, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’d say sorry, but I’m, you know, not.” Another step.</p><p>Villanelle smiles, then. <em> Finally</em>. “I’d expect nothing less.” They are rather close to each other, now.</p><p>“I have to say though, if we’re being honest...your plan kind of sucked.”</p><p>Villanelle laughs aloud at this. “You are so rude.” She shrugs, conceding the point. “And yeah. I’ve kind of been a mess.”</p><p>“I did notice that, yeah.”</p><p>They are in each other’s space. This close, Eve can count Villanelle’s freckles. </p><p>“Between you and me,” Eve says, her voice quiet, as if she’s letting Villanelle in on a secret, “I wanted it to be you. Even before I knew.”</p><p>Villanelle smiles, responds in kind. “Same here.” </p><p>Her eyes are this actually rather lovely shade of multifaceted hazel.</p><p>“While we’re being honest…” Her smile shifts into a smirk, and Eve is already rolling her eyes as she says, “Your username is <em> so </em>bad, Eve.”</p><p>“Oh my god, are you ever going to let this go?”</p><p>“I’ve been counting the days ‘til I could tell you in person. It’s been weighing on me.”</p><p>Eve huffs. “For the last time, it’s totally logi—”</p><p>Generally, Eve hates being cut off, but considering the circumstances — Villanelle taking her face in her hands, and kissing her with an urgency that suggests it’s been a long time coming, and a long time denied — she’ll allow it. Her lips are soft, and this may actually be better than the (many) times Eve has permitted herself to imagine it. </p><p>When they part, they just stand there for a moment, foreheads together. Eve smiles. “So...I think you were saying something about love? Before I rudely interrupted, I mean.” </p><p>Villanelle pauses for a second, before chuckling. “Uh, yeah, I think I was. If that’s okay.”</p><p>“Let me see...” Eve leans back in. Just before their lips meet, she breathes, “I think I can find a way to live with it, yeah.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Before she stops thinking entirely, Villanelle notes that there isn’t any swelling music, and this still isn’t a rom-com. But she <em> can </em>almost imagine fireworks, and with Eve in her arms, her phone shoved in her pocket, forgotten...yeah, this will do just fine.</p><p>In fact, she thinks it might even be better. </p><p> </p><p>-Fin-</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and that's that. no one was stabbed, eve is pleased with herself, and villanelle can sleep (or not) for the first time in weeks.</p><p>there will likely be an epilogue added at some point, but we doneee for now. </p><p>this was my first attempt at writing a rom-com, albeit with more feelings-induced angst than i saw coming. with the world’s general current grimness, focusing on writing lighthearted shenanigans was just the ticket. i had a lot of fun with it, and would love to hear your thoughts, if so inclined! thanks for reading.</p><p>@lightfighterfic bird app</p><p>12/28: editing to add that an epilogue has been added, check out the next work in the series, 'tis the damn season!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>